


Crash Into Me

by GraphiteFox



Series: A Grand Prix [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Angst, Artistic Liberties, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Comfort/Angst, Fluff and Humor, Multi, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3741445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraphiteFox/pseuds/GraphiteFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Hart is the enigmatic and wealthy head of the Kingsman Group, a financial behemoth with long-reaching arms.  Logan Davis is a former F1 driver turned casual mechanic, known to most as Merlin, a nickname from his racing days.  It takes Harry about 10 seconds to realize that he wants to know everything about Merlin, but Merlin’s lived the fame and fortune life already and isn’t easily courted.  Fortunately for Harry, he’s got two dedicated life advisers to keep him from putting his foot in his mouth too much.</p><p>AKA: Everyone is a hopeless nerd and I wanted an excuse to make Harry the awkward one this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jump Start

**Author's Note:**

> Jump Start: In F1, this refers to a driver moving off the grid position prior to the five red lights being switched off to signal the start. This earns the driver a penalty.

Chapter One: Jump Start

                “How could you do this, Harry?” Roxy regarded him with a stunned, almost wounded expression. “You’ve had it all of five days.”

                “I didn’t intend to do it,” Harry replied, shifting his weight from one leg to another. “I _may_ have had it in the wrong gear for a bit, and then I _may_ have heard a slight pop and kept driving. Still, I think this is a poor reflection on the manufacturer, not me.”

                “This is like the McLaren all over again,” Roxy said, crossing her arms. “Stop buying beautiful cars if you’re just going to ruin them.”

                “ _That_ was not my fault,” Harry protested. “A car that costs that much should be able to drive over a simple hole in the road.”

                “Uh, it was more like a crater and you drove right at it,” said Eggsy, coming up to stand beside them.

                The three of them peered into the oil-stained engine bay of the Jaguar. It was like witnessing the aftermath of an explosion.

                Roxy whimpered in dismay. “How did you even manage this?”

                “That’s for Eggsy to figure out,” Harry remarked, now more than tired of being scolded by his subordinates. The fact that it happened so often was something he chose to ignore.

                “Mate, I drive cars, I don’t fix ‘em. You should hire a mechanic.”

                “Isn’t that what the dealership is for?”

                Eggsy sighed. “You keep breakin’ ‘em and they’re not gonna put you on the listsanymore. Ferrari hung up on me the last time I called.”

                “A full time mechanic,” Roxy insisted. She placed one hand on the side of the Jag as if to comfort it.

                “Tragic,” Harry said, convinced that it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he stopped being allowed to buy supercars. They were obnoxious and hard to handle. He’d drive a bleeding Renault if it meant that he could get from point A to point B without being judged poorly for it. “Send it back.”

                Behind him, Roxy gave Eggsy a pleading look. The fact that the Hart name almost guaranteed the estate would receive every new supercar was a source of immense joy for her. The fact that Harry would then proceed to damage every new supercar in some horrible way was the trade off.

                “Fine.” Eggsy tapped at his tablet. “You have your weekly update with Gazelle in two hours. Prolly should go now if you want to avoid traffic.”

                “I’ll leave in an hour then.”

                Eggsy glared at him. “You know that she takes it out on _me_ when you’re late, yeah?”

                Harry turned to Roxy. “Are you armed?”

                She frowned. “Always. Why?”

                “Because when I show Gazelle my plans for Australia, she may try to kill me.”

                “Excellent,” said Eggsy, heading for the door. “That’ll be the showdown of a lifetime, yeah?”

                “Which you will unfortunately miss. I need you to get Valentine off my back. He will not stop pushing on this collaboration idea of his.”

                 Harry could recognize a power grab when he saw one. Richmond Valentine, while unarguably brilliant, had the look of a man bent on creating a monopoly. As it worked now, Harry could use the clout behind the Kingsman Group to invest in any project he found worthy, much to the dismay of his CEO and shareholders. Lately he’d been funding scientific research and infrastructure projects around the world. It was a far cry from its original inception, which had been to sell secrets and manipulate poorer countries into endless crippling debt. The world had enough of those organizations already, and Harry had spent the past decade and a half dismantling all the dirty effort his father had put into the company.

                Eggsy shrugged as they headed for the drive, where the car that would take Harry into the city waited. “Just meet with him. Gazelle even thinks it’s a good idea.”

                “Which is why you’re staying here, so you can’t agree with her for two hours.” Helping Valentine wipe out technological competitors was not his idea of money or time well spent, no matter what Gazelle said. It was time power protected people instead of grinding them down. “She thinks if she pushes me enough I’ll say yes. I’m far too stubborn for that, people should know that already.”

                “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,” Eggsy grumbled. “There’s only so many excuses I can come up with.”

                “You’re a clever boy, you’ll think of something. Also, send an email to Percy about the financiers’ gala and tell him I will not be in attendance.”

                Now Eggsy looked truly dismayed. “Harry, come on. All you have to do is show up, shake a few hands, then leave. Percy will kill me.”

                The Aston Martin was waiting for them on the drive. It was a DB9, sleek and sophisticated, and the only reason Harry bothered to remember it was because Roxy liked to gush about it every time they went into London. It made her “feel like James Bond” she’d said. She’d even threatened to quit if he tried to drive it. He slid into the passenger seat, saying “Percy specifically asked me to let him oversee the PR department. If he hasn’t found someone to placate the masses yet, that’s not my fault. Making small talk with shareholders is his forte, not mine.”

                Eggsy blocked him from shutting the door. “So I have to stay here and deliver a bunch of bad news?”

                Harry grinned. “Yes, but you can deliver it however you please.”

                “You bet your _ass_ ,” Eggsy grumbled, turning and stalking back into the mansion.

                Roxy adjusted her mirrors for a moment. “You do know he’s going to piss off a bunch of people on your behalf, right?”

                “That’s why I hired him.”

                “Should I ask why you hired me?”

                “For your impeccable logic and quick draw.”

                “Just know that if Gazelle does try to kill you, I’m not going to stop her.”

                “That’s fair,” Harry agreed.

               

                +

                Four hours later, Roxy pulled the DB9 around the curve of the drive.

                “Remind me to have Eggsy change my ringtone for Gazelle to ‘If Looks Could Kill’,” Harry groaned, idly stroking his forehead.

                “You don’t always have to provoke her,” Roxy responded, her tone completely devoid of sympathy.

                The meeting had gone horribly, despite him arriving on time for once. Harry had turned down all of Gazelle’s proposals, including another unsubtle bid for him to consider a deal with the Valentine Corporation. At the end she’d simply glared at him and rubbed her prosthetic legs together with an ominous slicing sound.

                To make matters worse, Percy had stopped him in the hallway to inquire if Harry’s psychopathic tendencies were “a new development or simply a well-kept secret” and were there any criminal activities he should know about in case he needed to make a statement? Harry had responded that the less Percy knew, the safer he’d be, and the latter had nodded seriously before walking off. Apparently giving Eggsy free reign meant the fabrication of elaborate mental disorders. He almost didn’t want to know what excuse he’d used to delay Valentine.

                “When you’re in charge someday, Roxy, you can decide whether you value integrity or profit.”

                She gave him a strange look, then pointed out the window. “Is that a McLaren 12C?”

                “Are you expecting me to answer that?” asked Harry. There was a sleek silver sports car parked on the bit of drive leading to his garage. The closest he could get to answering Roxy’s question was that it certainly wasn’t one of his. “I’d say we have a visitor.”

                “That’s the kind of visitor I’d like to meet,” she responded, slipping off her seat belt. Before she could investigate further, her phone rang. “James,” she told him, referring to their Head of Security. “I need to take this.”

                It was just as well because Eggsy was coming out to meet them, looking annoyingly smug.

                “Good trip?” he asked.

                “Psychopathic tendencies, Eggsy? Really?”

                “’However I please,’ you said.”

                A few feet away they overhead Roxy saying, “No, James. There are no bodies you need to know about. You do realize Eggsy was joking about Harry being a psychopath?”

                “I wasn’t!” Eggsy yelled at her.

                Roxy threw him a glare and started walking further away. “Yes, I promise to tell you if Harry tries to kill anyone.”

                “The first one to go will be my personal assistant,” Harry murmured, looking directly at Eggsy.

                “Try me, bruv.”

                Just then Harry caught sight of a tall, casually-dressed man exiting the garage. He headed straight for the silver car, leaned in through the open window, and removed a notepad. The man moved with fluid, powerful strides and disappeared back into the garage long before Harry was done watching him.

                “Who was that?” he asked, cutting Eggsy off.

                Eggsy glanced towards the garage. “Must have been the mechanic. Name’s Merlin.”   

                “You hired a 12th century magician to fix my car?”

                “Well that’s why he’s called Merlin. He’s a wizard with cars apparently. Everyone says he’s the best, so…” Eggsy shrugged.

                “You got a mechanic here that quickly?”

                “When I called him and told him what you did, he sounded interested. Said he’d come by immediately.” A wide, partially-malicious grin spread across Eggsy’s face. “You should’a seen the look on his face when he lifted the hood.”

                Harry bit back a sigh. “Excellent. I’m sure hearing my name helped the process.”

                “Didn’t mention it, actually,” Eggsy said. “Though the estate is prolly a dead giveaway.”

                As were the obnoxiously monogrammed drive gates that Harry wanted to replace. Every time he saw the curving iron ‘H’s he felt the desire to pry them off with a crowbar.

                “And you didn’t call the dealership why?”

                “Because you’re gonna make Rox cry, Harry. You want her to protect you, yeah?”

                “Fair enough,” Harry agreed. “Let’s go see what this mechanic has to say then.”

                All the lights in the garage were on, illuminating the myriad metal surfaces. Harry found the mechanic where he’d expected to: rolled under the half-propped chassis of the Jaguar. The notepad was resting on the ground by his feet, several lines of neat, decisive script already written in.

                All he could see of the man was his long legs clad in dark jeans, bent at the knees, and his well-worn loafers.

“Merlin, I presume.”

                One of the legs straightened, the heel of one shoe pressed against the ground for purchase. Then the man rolled out from under the car, wearing an unreadable expression. He was already up to his shirt sleeves in oil, which didn’t seem out of place considering the sheer amount of fluid covering everything in the car. He unfolded himself smoothly, coming up to match Harry’s height.   

                “I take it you’re the man who bottomed out a McLaren P1.”

                _Goddamnit, Eggsy._ “Harry Hart. And I still maintain that was the road’s fault, not mine.”

                This made Merlin’s mouth quirk slightly, and damn if that didn’t entice Harry at least a bit. The man was fantastic to look at: green eyes hidden under dark brows and a jawline cut from glass. There was something dangerous in his demeanor that stuck with Harry, a faint itch in his skin.

                “And this one? The road’s fault as well?” He spoke with a calm ease, his words measured in a rich Scottish accent. Harry’s pulse leapt.

                “Ah, no. This was my fault, I suspect.”

                “It certainly took some doing.”

                Clearing his throat, Harry asked lightly, “Is Merlin the name I should put on the check?”

                “Logan Davis.”

                Something twitched in the back of Harry’s mind at this. He opened his mouth, then paused, still thinking. Merlin only watched him, smiling slightly, knowing but not attempting to help Harry get there.

                _Logan Davis. Cars. Danger._

                “The driver?” he asked.

                “Once upon a time,” Merlin replied.

                He remembered the name simply because it was everywhere in the 80s. Harry couldn’t pull up a single memory of what Logan Davis had looked like then, which wasn’t surprising. His knowledge of F1 was minimal at best. Still, he knew enough to recognize that Merlin was someone important. Even the nickname made sense now. Something about a driving wizard, all a bunch of white noise to Harry at the time.

                Now he found himself wishing he’d paid more attention.

                “I’m slightly involved in F1 myself,” Harry said, hoping he didn’t sound too much like he was reaching. Which he was.

“I’m aware,” Merlin said, drawing a rag from his back pocket and wiping his fingers. “You sponsored one of my competitors.”

                “Clearly I should have sponsored you. From what I remember, my driver never won.”

                “It takes more than money to make a team,” was the mild reply.

                _Well, fuck._ Harry slipped his hands into his pockets, wondering why his head and mouth couldn’t function in unison today. “You make an excellent point.”

                Merlin tucked the rag back into his pocket, picked up the notepad, and added several lines.

             “And you fix cars now?” Harry asked. It was a stupid, obvious question, but the silence was worse. _I can salvage this conversation_ , he thought. Harry rarely had trouble with words. What the hell was it about Logan Davis that made his brain shut down?

                “I attempt to,” Merlin responded, glancing back at the oil-splattered engine bay. “Ones that interest me.”

                “Does the Jaguar interest you? Because I can always break a different one, as I’m sure my assistant has told you.”

                Once again, those intense eyes flickered back to Harry, sending a sudden jitter through his chest.

                “It’ll serve.”

                _You arsehole. Act more cavalier about the one thing the man’s dedicated his life to._

                Thankfully, Merlin tucked his notepad under one arm and shifted his body towards the door. “I’ll arrange to have it towed back to my garage and call you when it’s ready. I left my contact information with your staff if you need me before then.”

                “Your assistance is appreciated, Mr. Davis.” When everything else failed, it was easiest to fall back on professional lines.

                Harry held out his hand and waited as Merlin hesitated, looking down at his oil-stained palms. But Harry was determined. It was a cursory handshake, but the mechanic’s strong grip was enough to make Harry feel rattled. Maybe it was the way the man’s gaze never left Harry’s.

                “Merlin is fine.” He inclined his head, then headed for the doorway where Eggsy and Roxy stood looking supremely distracted.

 

+

                There were very few things that put Roxy visibly on edge and as far as Eggsy could tell, none of them were in the building. Nevertheless she was practically vibrating beside him. He could see her ponytail twitching as she watched Harry talk with the mechanic.

                “Are you okay?”

                “Logan Davis is here,” she hissed back, leaning up on the pads of her feet for a better look.

                “What, that Merlin guy?”

                Roxy stared at him like he was the one with psychopathic tendencies. “Do you not know who he is?”

                “Yeah,” Eggsy said defensively, “he’s a mechanic.”

                “ _No!_ ”

                “He is!” Eggsy insisted. “I checked!” Ever since the last gardener he’d hired had taken to staring in the windows while holding hedge shears, Roxy had demanded that she be the one to vet out any new staff. And he might have sped up the process this time, but Merlin seemed normal enough and all the hedge shears were locked up, so…

                “ _No_ , he’s a three-time Grand Prix world champion! He held the record for most consecutive race wins until Vettel hit nine in 2013! He helped McLaren create arguably the best Formula One car ever made!”

                “Woah, Rox, calm down!” Eggsy grinned. “Do you want his autograph?”

                She gave him a scathing look. “Shut up.”

                “I’m guessin’ yes.”

                “Of course I fucking do! He’s a legend!”

                “Seriously, Rox, you have no chill right now.”

                She exhaled sharply, but managed to look a bit more controlled. Eggsy, meanwhile, was gleeful. He rarely had the chance to see Roxy so excited and it was even rarer that _he_ got to tell _her_ to calm down. Speaking of people losing their cool…

                “Does Harry look flustered to you?”

                Roxy paused from her hero worship long enough to study their employer. “I think you’re right.”

                “£20 that he wants to get into your legend’s trousers.”

                “Oh God,” Roxy groaned. “If you’re right, then Harry is going to humiliate himself.”

                “Why? Harry can be charmin’ when he wants to be.”

                “Does Merlin looked charmed?”

                Eggsy winced. The Scotsman cut an imposing figure and his expression was unreadable at best. Still it was pretty obvious that whatever Harry was saying, it wasn’t having a great effect. “You think we can distract them?”

                “No need, he’s leaving.”

                Merlin nodded at them as he passed through the door. There was a hot flush on Roxy’s cheeks and a look akin to terror on her face. Eggsy made a heart-sign with his hands, to which she responded by raising two fingers in a V.

                Outside, a car engine fired up and growled into the distance. Harry approached, looking vaguely dismayed.

                “You could have left out the McLaren story.”

                “You could’a brought me to the meetin’,” Eggsy replied easily.

                Harry just shook his head. “Today’s been a day.”

                Roxy, in her best sympathetic voice, asked “Do you want me to ask Amelia if there’s cake?”

                “I’m hardly a child in need of comfort food,” Harry protested. Then his mouth quirked. “With tea, please.”

                “On it.” Her ponytail swung behind her as she turned briskly.

                “Do you want me to fire ‘im?” Eggsy asked, after Roxy was out of earshot.

                “Who?”

                “The mechanic. I can just call the dealer tomorrow.”

                “Absolutely not. I just need to do some research, that’s all.”

                “Research?” Eggsy prompted. He’d bet his entire bank account that Harry’s research included the terms “F1” and “Logan Davis.”

                “Mm,” Harry responded, eyes not quite focused. Then he redirected his gaze fully on Eggsy. “And you are going to come up with another excuse for Percy before he schedules me a mandatory psychiatric evaluation.”

                “Come on,” said Eggsy, now walking back towards the mansion proper with Harry. “Everyone knows you ain’t a psychopath.”

                “That’s the thing about wealth, Eggsy. People believe you can get away with anything if you have enough money.”

                _The sad thing_ , Eggsy thought to himself, _is that they’re probably right._


	2. Qualifying Lap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets a second chance, Merlin learns about butterflies, Roxy is an alarmingly aggressive spectator, and Eggsy is generally smug.

                The tow truck had arrived early in the morning to pick up the Jaguar. Eggsy had already received an email from Merlin confirming that it had arrived at his garage and that he’d send back an updated timeline and invoice once he knew exactly what he was looking at. Harry had to give the man credit: he was unfailingly efficient.

                Harry had spent a good portion of the previous evening Googling Logan Davis and being disappointed that he’d been so disinterested in racing in his 20s.  All the pictures showed that same intense gaze, but in many of them Davis was smiling. Young Davis even had hair, dark and close-cropped.

                Harry was reading the man’s Wikipedia page when Roxy came into the office holding a tray.

                “Room service?” he asked. It wasn’t particularly rare for either her or Eggsy to bring him food on occasion, usually when he’d gotten too distracted to eat.

                “Amelia’s been baking,” she clarified, setting the tray down on his desk. “I thought I’d bring you some treats before Eggsy ate them all.”

                “And the crumbs on your lapel are coincidental?”

                Roxy brushed them off and gave him a quick smile. “All right then, before Eggsy and I ate them all.”      

                “You have perfect timing,” Harry said, reaching for a strawberry scone. It was still warm and damp with butter. “Did you recognize Logan Davis last night?”

                Roxy perked up at this, her expression brightening. “Of course. He’s a legend, you know.”

                Harry gestured at his screen. “So Google has been telling me.”

                She came around the desk to take a look. “ _Wow_. Look how young he was!”

                “Barely older than you in some of these.”

                “He aged well,” she murmured, then giggled.

                “Shall I put in a good word for you?” Harry teased, causing her to turn faintly pink.

                “That won’t be necessary.”

                The decisive way she said it intrigued him, but before he could respond, Roxy had taken control of the touch screen. “That was his first championship win. God, look at him, cool as you please. Oh! Those are some of his custom helmets. He always wore a new helmet for every last race, designed by some artist. Never revealed who. His teammate did, too.”

                She paused on a picture of Davis and another driver, a fair-haired man with a bright smile. They had their arms slung around each other’s shoulders and appeared to be celebrating.

                “That was his teammate,” Roxy said, her voice now soft. “Anton Albrecht.”

                “It says here that he died,” said Harry, skimming the caption below the image.  

                “During qualifying in Singapore. His tires locked up and he slammed into the barrier. Lost his helmet. Rescue crews couldn’t get to him quickly enough. Merlin pulled out of the race and retired a day later. He was on schedule to win a fourth championship, too.”

                “Just like that?” asked Harry. “What about his contract?”

                “There were rumors that they were involved,” Roxy said lightly. “Merlin and Albrecht. I don’t think anyone could have actually made him drive after that. I’ve seen all the videos about it and the entire team was just destroyed.”

                Harry leaned back in his chair, studying the image. He’d never given it much thought, just assumed that anyone crazy enough to race a death trap around a track accepted their fate. And yet to lose a friend or even a lover in such a way...

                He would have walked away from it all, too.

                Perhaps sensing his disquiet, Roxy drew her finger down the screen, bringing up the first picture of a triumphant Davis winning his first championship.

                “You know what this means right? You can’t break another car. I’ve got second-hand embarrassment already.”

                “I’m sure he’s only judging me,” Harry consoled her. “Is Eggsy still here?”

                Roxy glanced at her watch. “He’s having brunch with Michelle and Daisy, but he said he’d come back this afternoon to help with the financial update.”

                “ _That_.” Harry grimaced. “Why did I suggest doing that on a Sunday?”

                “Because Percy wants it tomorrow.”

                “Maybe I could have you—“

                Roxy’s eyes narrowed. “ _No_ , Harry. Just because he’s my godfather doesn’t mean I’m going to manipulate him on your behalf.”

                “It was worth a try.”

                “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” she responded, heading for the door.

                “In the kitchen?”

                “Amelia is teaching me how to make croissants.” With a quick wave, she was gone.

                Harry puzzled over this for a moment. Eggsy had been known to dabble with cooking here and there with fair results, but Roxy flat-out refused to use any kitchen appliance short of the microwave. This hadn’t been a problem since Amelia had been hired and begun spoiling everyone on the estate with the best food they’d ever tasted. If Roxy wanted to learn from her, Harry had no qualms about it.

                He took a second scone, the first having been devoured in seconds in his distraction. What he wanted was another chance to talk to Merlin. The man was fascinating, beyond being incredibly attractive, and Harry knew he’d continue to be distracted until he did something about it.

                Wrapping the scone in a napkin, Harry headed for the garage.

 

+

               

                “Eggsy, what about the Ferrari?”

                “Just came back from the dealer, why?”

                Eggsy had come back from a lovely brunch with his family to find Harry wandering around the garage, humming to himself and nudging car tires with his oxfords like he knew what he was doing. He’d immediately sent off a text to Roxy: [ _Harry’s smitten. Come watch him be ridiculous._ ]

                She’d popped up a minute later smelling of butter, with flour pasted all down her pant leg.

                They shared a look now as Harry swore quietly.

                “You tryin’ to find somethin’ wrong with one of your cars so you can have Merlin come back?”

                “Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry said quickly, _too_ quickly. “I’m just taking more of an interest in my collection.”

                “Mhm.” Eggsy waved his hands at the row of gleaming vehicles. “Jus’ pick one and take it for a spin. That’s bound to do somethin’ horrible.”

                “I can fire you, you know,” Harry responded.

                “Then you’d have to answer your own calls,” Eggsy replied easily, tapping away at the tablet. “Shall I invite Valentine over for a nice _long_ chat before I get my stuff?”

                Harry grimaced and resumed pacing the row of cars. “You’ve made your point.” He paused in front of the Aventador, still grimacing.           

                “That’s the only one you haven’t broken yet, prolly because you never drive it.”

                “I can’t _imagine_ why,” said Roxy.

                “Hey! Harry said I could pick the color, so I did. Yeah, it’s a little bright, but that’s orange for you.”

                “It looks like a traffic cone.”

                “Did I hire adults or did I adopt two children?” asked Harry.

                “Both,” Eggsy replied. It wasn’t really a lie. A year ago Harry had nearly run Eggsy down with his car in London. After Eggsy had laid into him with some choice words, Harry had stuck his head out the window, looking incredibly frustrated, and asked if Eggsy would have any more luck driving “this infernal nightmare.”

                He didn’t even know who Harry was right then, figured he was some posh wanker having him on, but then Harry had literally offered to pay him to drive. It wasn’t until he’d pulled in front of the Kingsman headquarters that Eggsy realized he’d just driven _Harry-fucking-Hart_.

                Harry had paid him £300 for a fifteen minute drive and then said that if Eggsy didn’t mind waiting an hour or so, he had a business proposition for him. Eggsy ended up waiting because Harry had paid him so much for so little and it made him uncomfortable to just up and run after that. They’d gone to a small pub and, over drinks, Harry had made his offer. He needed an assistant, a driver. Basic stuff: take his calls, handle appointments, stop him from killing street kids with his car.

                It had been so ridiculous that Eggsy nearly refused. But Harry was calm and earnest and Eggsy liked him despite his privilege. Working for Harry meant a safe home for his mum and sister. It meant having something useful to do and being treated like an equal. Most of all, it meant having someone who watched your back.

                No one believed Harry was serious when he first brought Eggsy into headquarters, suited up but so clearly low-class it was painful. Percy had managed one snide remark before Harry calmly but efficiently shut him down.

                Roxy was hired two weeks later. She’d been living in London with Percy after leaving her parents’ estate for a reason she still wouldn’t reveal. She’d happened to be at headquarters when a protestor had come in waving a knife and raving.

                Harry and Eggsy were in the lobby, just about to head back to the estate, when the protestor made a beeline for Harry. Roxy had dropped the guy with one swift knee to the gut. James had burst into laughter and joked to Harry that he should consider hiring her as a personal bodyguard. Harry had immediately gone upstairs and asked Percy to draw up the paperwork.

                They’d become their own strange little family in a short time. Roxy was as much of a sister to him now as Daisy, and Harry—well, there wasn’t much Eggsy wouldn’t be willing to do for him. Including help him flirt with the hot mechanic.

                After a moment, Roxy suggested, “The Lamborghini _has_ been making a weird noise.”

                “How can you tell?” asked Eggsy. “It’s all one long growl.”

                She shot him a heavy look and he added quickly, “But yeah, I’d say it sounded strange last time I heard it.” _Which was the day it was brought in to collect dust._

                “Better be safe then,” Harry decided. “Eggsy, call Davis—er, _Merlin_ \--and ask him to take a look at the Lamborghini as well. May as well write one check for everything.”

                “You don’t want to call him yourself?” Eggsy teased.

                “Why would I want to call him?” Harry asked, looking petrified at the thought. “Just have him come sometime soon.”

                “Isn’t that your job?” Eggsy muttered low enough that only Roxy could hear him. She let out a quiet huff of laughter.

                “Meet me in my office when you’re ready,” Harry said. “With any luck we’ll get through the proposal before the sun goes down.”

                The moment he was out of sight, Eggsy pulled out his phone.

                “Are you calling Merlin now?”

                “Yep.”

                “It’s Sunday.”

                “So I’ll leave a message. You owe me £20 by the way.” 

                “You’ll get it if they go on a date,” Roxy responded. “I’m going to watch the race, don’t bother me unless we’re under attack.”

                As Eggsy dialed Merlin’s number, he thought it was pretty lucky that he thought in “whens” and not “ifs.”

 

+

                Merlin pulled up to the Hart estate gates for the second time in two days. He was amused when Hart’s assistant had called him saying that they had an Aventador that “sounded funny.” He’d seen the Lambo in the garage yesterday and it looked like it had never been moved. Although, in lieu of the Jag, it was possible Hart had taken it for a spin and wrecked it. He didn’t seem to have much luck with cars.

                Now _there_ was a strange man. Merlin wasn’t always up to date on the happenings in the world, but he knew who Harry Hart was. Or at least he knew _of_ him. Actually speaking to him had been an interesting exercise. The man was nowhere near as collected as he appeared on television. Luxury looked good on him, but it also seemed to be wearing him out.

                Still, not many people around had a collection like Harry Hart and Merlin would rather be playing around in Hart’s garage than his own today. Sundays made him uneasy.

                The same guard was at the gates again. His gaze was focused on a flat screen showing the Shanghai Grand Prix, but he reacted immediately to the approaching car. He nodded at Merlin and was just about to speak when a woman’s voice cracked loudly over the intercom.

                “Did you _see_ that, Geoff? I swear to God, Maldonado is a fucking crash magnet—GET YOUR CAR OFF THE TRACK DAMN—“

                Geoff chuckled and turned the volume down on the com. “Sorry about that, Mr. Davis.”

                “Not a problem. Good race today?”

                “So far. Mercedes on top as usual though.”

                “Not a fan of the Mercs then?”

                “No, sir. I’m a McLaren man and we have to represent our country’s industry.” The guard’s smile faltered slightly. “Even when they’re doing absolutely shite. They don’t stand a chance with those Honda engines. Too bad you can’t knock their heads together. The team hasn’t been the same since you retired.”

                Merlin tilted his head in acknowledgement. No one wanted McLaren to start improving more than Merlin, if only so people would stop bringing it up to him.

                Geoff bowed his head quickly. “That’s enough from me, go on through sir.”

                He followed the drive, the 12C purring as it glided across the tarmac. He’d given up a lot of the trappings of his glory days, but this car had been an indulgence he never regretted. That said, he did want to get his hands on Hart’s P1, if only because the beauty deserved a driver that could handle it.

               Hart’s assistant— _Eggsy,_ of all names—was waiting for him, trademark tablet in hand.

               “You work on Sundays?” Merlin asked when he got out of the car.

               “Not normally, but there’s a lot goin’ on this quarter,” Eggsy responded, drawing himself up. Merlin hadn’t decided yet whether the boy was clever or just fortunate.

               Before he could respond, Merlin could hear the woman from the intercom shouting from the open second floor window above them. “No one cares that your seat is hot you wanker, MOVE THE FUCK OVER!”

                Merlin raised an eyebrow. “That’s colorful.”

                Eggsy grinned back. “It’s just Roxy. She’s watchin’ the race.”

                “YOU ABSOLUTE BASTARD. I HOPE YOUR GEAR BOX JAMS!”

                “She sounds very passionate,” Merlin said. If he was honest, her enthusiasm amused him. At least someone here was benefiting from Hart’s collection.

                “She practically _bleeds_ petrol.” The boy’s face brightened. “Hey, you wouldn’t be against signin’ somethin’ for her, would you? I think it would make her explode.”

                It sounded like she was already exploding, given the extreme amount of expletives. Merlin smiled. “I’d be happy to. I’ll send something back with the Jag.”

                “You could prolly just sign a rock or somethin’ and she’d be chuffed.”

                “I have something better in mind.”

                “BLUE FLAG!”

                “Chill, Rox! We’re havin’ a conversation out here!” Eggsy shouted back.              

                “Don’t tell me to chill, Eggsy Unwin! I—“ Merlin recognized Hart’s other assistant from last night as she popped her head out of the window to yell. Her eyes met his for a moment, then she ducked back inside and slammed the window down.

                Eggsy’s shoulders were shaking with laughter. “She’ll kill me. But it was worth it.”

                “A funny sound, you said?” Merlin prompted.

                “Yeah,” Eggsy responded, still laughing. “Harry’s the one that heard it, lemme go grab him.”

                Before he could move, Hart came out of the mansion, a sheaf of paper in his hands. “Eggsy, if you think you’re leaving me to sort out this report by myself—“ His mouth dropped a bit, then he straightened and came down to meet them.

                “Merlin. I didn’t think you’d be stopping by today.”

                Merlin was glad he had. Seeing Hart thrown off was becoming his new favorite pastime. The man was dressed in a simple white collared shirt, open at the neck, with a dark blue cardigan. What interested Merlin the most were the thick black frames Hart wore, the glasses giving him more of a studious, relaxed quality. He looked like a slightly rumpled professor faced with a deluge of poorly-written term papers. Merlin fought to keep his expression neutral as he appreciated the image.

                “I’ll take those,” Eggsy said, grabbing the papers out of Hart’s hands on his way back into the mansion. “Be in your office!”

                Hart stared after him for a moment, then shook his head.

                “Shall we?” Merlin asked, already heading for the garage. It wasn’t difficult to find the Aventador, the paint job burning like the midday sun.

                “I hope Eggsy didn’t press you,” Hart said, sounding genuinely bothered. “I truly didn’t expect you here on a Sunday.”

                “I came of my own accord,” Merlin assured him, trying the handle. “Toss me the keys.”

                Hart looked momentarily bewildered, as though he’d been asked to comply with a request that his gentlemanly programming could not compute. Then he opened the drawer beside him, took out a set of keys, and threw them.

                Merlin caught them in one hand. “Well done.”

                Sliding into the driver’s seat, Merlin flicked the red cover off the power button and started it up, unable to hold back his smile at the powerful thrumming it made as it came to life.              

                Merlin revved the engine and the feral growl echoed in the garage around them. Outside the car, Hart had reached up to rub his neck and Merlin knew the man’s hair was standing on end. It was a fantastic feeling and one that Merlin never got sick of. People talked a lot of shit about flashy cars, but once you made that engine _purr_ there was little to complain about.

                Merlin gave the Lambo another couple of good revs, mostly just to screw with Hart, then turned it off and got out.

               “There’s nothing wrong with this car, besides the color.”

                “Ah, well,” said Hart, grimacing. “I may have allowed my assistant to make that decision, a mistake I haven’t made again.”

                “You can always have it repainted.”

                Hart smiled in response. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m woefully out of fashion for it. For most of this,” he said, waving his arms at the cars around him.

                “Out of fashion? You know these companies thrive on men our age.”

                “I’m afraid I’m just keeping up appearances,” Hart explained. “My mid-life crisis was far less dramatic.”

                “Are you really going to tell me you don’t enjoy driving these? Not even this one?” Merlin asked, placing his hand on the hood of the pearl white DB9.

                Hart slipped one hand from his pocket to point. “That one is Roxy’s. I have a legally binding contract stating that I will not drive it.”

                “Are you really that bad?”

                “You didn’t have any trouble believing that yesterday,” Hart reminded him, still smiling. It was a nice smile, light enough to be earnest. Merlin rather liked Sunday afternoon Harry Hart.

                “Have you taken any of these to a track? It’s fine to look at them, but they’re meant to be driven, and fast.”

                “How long do you think any of these would survive in my hands on a track?”

                “I could take you out,” Merlin offered, the words out of his mouth before he’d really given them thought. He was desperate to take any of these cars out and push them to their limits. A purebred horse didn’t deserve to spend its life in a stable; a P1 deserved more than to be driven into a ditch by some toff.

                Hart blinked at him for a moment, before responding slowly. “That sounds intriguing.”

                “The P1 has a flamethrower effect under power as well. That would show up nicely on a track.”

                Hart stared at him, mystified. “Why would I want that?”

                “Why wouldn’t you?” Merlin responded with a grin. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

                “I can be very stubborn when I like,” Hart said. “I may decide not to.”

                “Doesn’t matter. Try to resist it all you want, it gets into your blood.” His casual offer had quickly become something more determined. He wanted to see the man caught up in adrenaline, eyes wild with excitement. Merlin could take anyone out on a track and turn them into a gibbering mess from the thrill. Hart would be the ultimate achievement.

                “You can even bring your ducklings,” Merlin added.

                Now Hart looked completely confused. “Excuse me?”

                Merlin motioned to Eggsy and Roxy who were collected in the doorway, their heads bowed together. “Everywhere you go, they follow.”

                Hart laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine. “That’s a remarkably apt way to describe them. Granted, following me around is in their job descriptions.”

                “You really need two assistants?”

                “Eggsy is my assistant,” he explained, his expression playful. “Roxy is my bodyguard.”

                Merlin was clever enough to know he was being baited. One look at the rigidity with which Roxy stood, her hands clasped behind her back and dark eyes focused, told him that she was indeed trained and would be more than happy to drop him if the situation called for it. Plus she had a lot of pent-up aggression if her earlier outbursts were any indication.

                He turned his gaze back to Hart, who was still wearing his bemused smile. There was something about the curl in the man’s hair that Merlin found incredibly distracting. He wanted to run his fingers through it, just completely make a mess of that immaculate hairstyle.

                “Go on,” Merlin urged, wondering if Hart had any idea what he was thinking. “Take the kids out for a track day.”

                “I’m afraid I can’t refuse. I’m in your undoubtedly capable hands.”

                Eggsy chose that moment to approach, eyes wide in fake innocence. “Amelia’s put tea on, giant spread. ‘Nough for four.”

                Hart immediately pivoted on his heels. “Join us.”

                “I should go.”

                “Really. The least I can do for wasting your time is waste more of it.”

                “Amelia’s cookin’ is ace,” Eggsy threw in.

                “All right, cup of tea,” Merlin agreed. It wasn’t really a waste of time for him. He had so much of it. Besides, he was more than a little curious about the inside of the mansion.

                “I’ll close up,” Eggsy said, and Merlin handed over the keys.

                The foyer was much as he expected it to be. Lots of framed art, mostly sketches, lots of expensive-looking breakable items. He followed Hart down the hallway and towards the sunnier portion of the mansion. Slowly the décor changed, becoming at once more colorful and confusing.

                Outside of the sitting room, the walls were covered in shadowboxes of pinned insects, their vibrant, jeweled bodies glittering in the weak sunlight.

                “I was expecting portraits of grumpy old men.”

                “Those are in the attic,” Hart said seriously. “I couldn’t stand them.”

                “And you’ve replaced them with butterflies.” Merlin figured he could throw a dart into a group of rich men and any one he hit would be an amateur lepidopterist.

                “And moths.”

                Hart’s eyes flickered over his collection in such a calm manner that Merlin couldn’t tell if he was being had on or not. He rather hoped he was.

+

                Roxy was having a hard time staying calm today. After Eggsy had slid into the entertainment room with his smug face on and taunted her about shouting out the window, she’d launched herself at him. They’d rolled around, grappling, until she’d gotten him in a headlock. Then they’d snuck into the garage to spy on Harry only for Merlin to spot them immediately.

                Now they were waiting to have tea together like some bizarre rom-com foursome. _The wealthy gentleman, his young apprentices, and the rough man he craves_. _Sexual tension over tiny sandwiches_.

                She considered hiding in the kitchen with Amelia, but after her disastrous attempt at croissants, avoiding Amelia was also high on the list of things Roxy wanted to do right now. What exactly did one do after smacking their crush in the face with a rolling pin?

                Nothing was ever simple.

                “He’s showing him the butterflies,” Roxy whispered to Eggsy. They were still tucked back in the entryway, trying to give Harry as much time alone with Merlin as possible. This was starting to seem like a bad move on their part. “We have to make him stop.”

                “You try stoppin’ Harry when it comes to _nymphadora california_.”

                “ _Nymphalis californica_ ,” Roxy corrected automatically, then grimaced. Eggsy’s inability to remember that the butterfly wasn’t actually named after a Harry Potter character meant that the correct name was forever embedded in her brain.               

                “You think he’ll try to tell Merlin the Latin joke?”

                Roxy grimaced deeper. “You mean _Amo Amas A-Moth_?”

                “That’s the one.”

                “Eggsy stop him. Stop him now.”

                “Why me? You’re the one with the gun!”

                “Are you seriously suggesting I shoot our employer to prevent him from flirting poorly?” By that logic she should have shot herself right after the rolling pin incident. _In the foot_ , she thought, briefly amused. _Ba-dum-tss._

                “Hey, if it was me, I’d want you to.”

                “If you’re going to hover, you may as well come over here,” Harry called out. Eggsy dragged his feet behind her, forcing her to take lead.

                Merlin removed his hand from his pocket as she approached. “Is it correct to assume you’re Roxy, then?”

                “You’d be correct, a pleasure to meet you,” she responded. Instinct allowed her to return his handshake with a sturdy grip, but she didn’t miss the amusement in his expression. She felt Eggsy’s elbow press teasingly into the small of her back and restrained herself from punching him in the chest. Revenge never expired. She could wait.

                The laughable romance novel feeling Roxy had was only heightened when they were faced with the enormity of Amelia’s spread. She’d put out enough sandwiches and pastries to feed fourteen people, not four. Even Harry looked a bit overwhelmed.

                “I don’t think she understands portion control,” he said.

                “I think it’s _great_ ,” said Eggsy, plopping down in a chair and grabbing a plate. Manners weren’t lost on him: he could employ them when he felt like it, he just didn’t bother very often. In this instance, Roxy recognized the move for what it was, a way to dispel awkward tension.

                It worked well enough. For a few minutes there was only the sound of porcelain clinking, then Eggsy broke the silence by announcing, “The longest Harry’s ever gone without breaking a car is 41 days.”

                “Thank you, Eggsy.”

                “The R8,” Roxy chimed in. The front end damage on that had been incredible.

                “Someone turned off the launch control,” Harry explained. “I think we’ve long established that I’m meant to be a passenger, not a driver.”

                “Good thing you’ve got us, yeah?” Eggsy grinned around a mouthful of bread.

                “What about the Aventador?” asked Merlin. He seemed surprisingly at ease, one leg slung over the other, a gilded teacup balanced in his large hands. “Or is that a fairly recent acquisition?”

                “That’s _months_ old,” Eggsy said, ignoring Roxy’s pointed glare. “Can’t be broken cuz it’s never been moved.”

                “Because of the weird noise,” she added quickly, seeing Harry blanch.

                “Right.” Eggsy said, looking sheepish.

                Merlin only smirked at them from behind his cup.

                There was a quick blip and Eggsy tugged his tablet onto his lap. After a moment he extended it to Harry, whose eyes darted across the screen, then tightened ever so slightly.

                Harry brushed off his trousers and stood up. “You’ll have to excuse us. Eggsy and I have some work to take care of, unfortunately, but please stay as long as you’d like.”

                Roxy shot them a look that said _don’t you fucking dare_ , but Eggsy only shrugged and followed Harry out of the room. Whatever it was, it was actually important then.

                This left her in the room with a man she knew too much about, thanks to Wikipedia, but who was otherwise a total stranger.

                Merlin smiled, the motion too smooth not to be teasing. “Who won?”

                “Hamilton,” she responded with a sneer. “Rosberg and Vettel also placed.”

                “Who did you want to place?”

                “Rosberg deserves first place. Hamilton is an arrogant bastard.”

                Merlin shrugged. “If Rosberg wants to win, he’ll have to fight for it. No one ‘deserves’ to win in F1. It’s about who’s the best driver, not who’s the nicest person.”

                “You were both,” Roxy pointed out before she could stop herself.

                “You weren’t even alive when I was racing,” Merlin replied with a short laugh. “But I appreciate having left such an impression on you.”      

                Roxy felt her anxiety slowly seeping away. Still, while she wasn’t petrified of being in the room with him, she didn’t know what to say to him, either. The longer she waited in silence, the more awkward it would become.

                Merlin rescued her by leaning back in his chair. “You can ask me questions. I don’t mind.”

                “A million people have asked you questions,” she pointed out.

                “And none of them were you. What do you have?”

                She had questions she _wanted_ to ask, but they would only hurt him she suspected. Sometimes it was hard to remember that famous people were still just people in the end. She decided to pull an “Unwin” and just be silly.

                “All right. Best track?”

                “I’m partial to Suzuka Circuit.”

                “Late-night takeaway?”

                “Not much takeaway around where I live, but when I was in London it was German. The name escapes me.”

                “Widespread logic or world peace?”

                “One hopes that widespread logic would lead to world peace. Am I passing so far?”

                She grinned at him, now completely at ease. “It’s not a test.”

                “Then it’s my turn. Do you truly have a legal contract preventing Hart from driving the DB9?”

                Roxy laughed. “Yes!”

                “Smart. How many ways can you kill a man using objects in this room alone?”

                She raised her eyebrows at him, but gamely gazed around the room. “At least thirty-one.”

                Merlin whistled. Setting his teacup down, he tapped the coffee table with one long finger before asking, “Did Hart make up a problem to get me to come back here?”

                He was smart, she realized. He was smart and funny and _perfect_ for Harry.

                “Maybe.”

                He smiled at this and stood up. “All right then. It was nice chatting with you, Roxy. I suspect we’ll have more opportunities to talk in the future.”

                Roxy saw him out, hiding a giddy grin. Okay, so she definitely owed Eggsy some money. She couldn’t care less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how I wrote in the summary that Merlin wouldn’t be easily courted? Yeah, I LIED. Merlin wants him some of Harry Hart in a cardigan and glasses, okay?
> 
> I love Aventadors more than any other car in the world but I’m pretty sure Harry would rather ride a bicycle than be caught driving one in bright orange. :)
> 
> Also amo amas a-moth was my roommate’s suggestion for if Harry discovered a new moth species and was allowed to name it. I feel like that’s pretty accurate.
> 
> Next chapter has Percy and James, who I've fallen in love with and will probably write about in a sequel once this is wrapped up properly. :D


	3. Formation Lap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry breaks Percy's brain, is unintentionally creepy, and manages to succeed despite himself. Merlin just wants some peace, dogs crop up a lot, and the ducklings eat macarons and are general BFFs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Formation Lap — The lap before the start of a Grand Prix when the cars are driven round from the grid to form up on the grid again for the start of the race. Sometimes referred to as the warm-up or parade lap.”

               Eggsy, having originally been hired as Harry’s driver, tended to get a bit irritable if his role was usurped for too long. However, being Harry’s assistant meant handling all incoming information from various platforms, delivering it to Harry, and ensuring actions were taken in response. Eggsy was spot on at the first two stages, but the third was dependent upon Harry actually responding. Enter Roxy making most of the drives into London while Eggsy frantically tried to fix things that had been ignored for too long whilst also trying his best not to curse out his boss.

                Lately though, Harry had been more involved in the process. As it was, Eggsy was the one driving into the city today while Roxy sat in the back playing backgammon with Harry on a tablet, and chewing on motion sickness pills. Any kind of activity while in a moving vehicle made her sick, though Eggsy still got defensive when she reached for the plastic tube of Dramamine, as though it was his fault corners made her dizzy.

                The drive from Harry’s estate into London took anywhere from 45 to 90 minutes, depending on traffic. Sure, she could lie back with her eyes closed for that time, but Harry got bored and it was more fun for them to play games. They’d agreed that backgammon was the most enjoyable after Roxy started losing her temper at Scrabble. It didn’t help that her opponent was the Oxford English Dictionary personified.

                They were tied 2-2 when Eggsy pulled into the parking structure. The Kingsman Group was housed in a fourteen-story building that was designed to be imposing rather than practical. Even as other monstrosities cropped up around it, it remained a steel and glass menace.

                Harry had an office here, so did Eggsy. So did she, as a matter of fact. They were probably the least used rooms in the building.

                Eggsy was dressed to impress today, his suit ironed and shoes shiny. Roxy pointed this out and he patted his shoulder bag. “I even brought my leather-bound notepad for this one.”

                This drew Harry’s attention. With an apologetic smile, he said, “Actually, I need you to sit this one out.”

                “C’mon,” Eggsy complained. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

                Harry chuckled. “Your behavior has nothing to do with it. This is a personal meeting.”

                “Am I gettin’ a raise?”

                Harry raised his eyebrow. “Do you need one?”

                “No,” Eggsy admitted. Harry kept everyone in his employ very well paid. “I jus’ can’t think of a good reason why, as your protégé, I’m not invited.”

                “I’ve never heard someone complain so much about _not_ being invited to a meeting,” Harry observed. “I promise you can start attending all my meetings in my stead, after this one.”

                “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

                “I should be back in an hour. Try not to get into trouble.” With a slight wave, Harry got into the elevator and headed up to accounting’s floor.

                “Got all dressed up for nothin’,” Eggsy grumbled.

                Roxy smiled. She had a more than vague idea of why Eggsy was trying so hard today. “You know Percy approves of you now, right?”

                This made Eggsy narrow his eyes in suspicion. “He’s never said that to me.”

                “He wouldn’t,” Roxy explained. “But if you’re still worried about impressing him, don’t be. Harry was impossible before you, apparently. Percy can be a snob sometimes, but he learns from his mistakes.”

                “Yeah?”

                “Yeah. I’m going to check in with James. You can join me if you’d like.”

                Eggsy made a face. “You mean sit there while you two challenge each other to see who can strip a gun quicker? No, thanks. I’ll wander.”

                “Suit yourself,” she said, and headed for the elevator.

                The building was jokingly split up into three sections: Downstairs, Upstairs, and Middle.

                James preferred to be in the middle of everything: access to the lobby if he was needed but also even access to the key personnel upstairs. Also, Percy’s office was upstairs and the distance meant he could work in relative peace without James stopping by every five minutes to chat.

                She knocked on the door to James’s office, but received no response. Testing the door handle, she found it was unlocked, so she pushed the door open and walked in.

                “James?”

                A hand clamped down on her wrist and Roxy slammed her free hand up under her attacker’s arm immediately, the force enough to free herself. Grabbing her attacker’s wrist now, she whirled him into the wall.

                Reaching under her jacket, she pulled her pistol and held it braced with both hands to prevent herself from being easily disarmed.

                James held up his hands and laughed. “That’s my girl.”

                “That was unbelievably rude,” Roxy responded, slipping her gun back into the waistband of her slacks. Then she leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek. “I know why Eggsy didn’t want to visit you now.”

                “Because I believe in ‘constant vigilance?’”

                Six months ago, Eggsy had small signs made for all of the security staff with Mad-Eye Moody’s motto printed on them for a laugh. James had proudly posted his above his office door and quoted it whenever he could.

                “That and he said he was tired of the gun challenge.”

                “Which you have failed to beat me at the last four times now.”

                “I’m feeling lucky today,” she proclaimed, setting her pistol down on the desk.

                Five rounds later and she’d only managed to reassemble once before him. James re-holstered his pistol, looking smug.

                “Not to worry. One day I’ll have arthritis. That should even the odds a little.”

                “God, are you this smug with Uncle Percy?”

                “Far worse,” James assured her with a grin.

                James was loud and bright with grey just beginning to streak the sides of his soft brown hair. His suits were always distinctive, never black or navy, and often with the same green tie he’d become known for. “So evil can see me and despair,” he’d told her once, which didn’t make much sense, but was also very James.

                He had probably been the kind of child who jumped off a roof wearing a cape, got broken, and then did it again later. Everything he did seemed to annoy Percy, who was far more straight-laced, but Roxy knew that Percy was anxious when he wasn’t around. She’d seen her godfather brighten when James’s keys jangled outside the door, only to immediately act disinterested.

                If James was the happy puppy, Percy was the long-suffering old cat.

                Speaking of puppies…

                “Do you think Harry would let you keep a dog at the estate?”

                “He might. Why?”

                James’s eyes flittered around in a show of innocence that Roxy didn’t believe for a second. “I may have brought a dog home without consulting Percy first. As a surprise, you know.”

                “ _Oh, no_.” “Surprise” was likely the word that Percy hated most just after “late” and “unfinished.”

                James paused. “I think he likes it, he just doesn’t want to admit it.”

                “It’s possible,” Roxy said, though she was pretty sure Percy didn’t. He wasn’t big on creatures that needed constant attention and he already had James. “What about obedience training?”

                James brightened. “That’s a thought. I’ll look into it.”

                “Really, Uncle James? You’ve been with Uncle Percy for how many years and you didn’t think to get the dog trained first?”

                “It was more of an impulse decision,” he admitted with a laugh. “But on the subject of _non_ -impulse decisions, I was thinking of assigning Harry a second bodyguard. That way you wouldn’t have to live on-site. I imagine it gets boring out in the country.”

                “I like it there,” Roxy protested. “Harry’s low-maintenance and there’s lots to do. Besides, there’s the secondary guard crew for the estate, so I can still have my own schedule.”

                “Even Eggsy has a separate place,” James pointed out. “You can’t spend all your time practically alone.”

                “Eggsy is almost always at the estate anyway. And I interact with plenty of people. Amelia’s even teaching me to cook.”

                “You hate cooking.”

                “Well, I thought it was time to learn.”

                The way James smiled told her that she wasn’t going to get out of this conversation easily. “From Amelia.”

                Mercifully, her phone dinged. “It’s Eggsy. I have to go.”

                “But I want to know about Amelia!” James protested.

                “I’ll text you,” Roxy said, already out the door.

                “You’d better!” he called after her.

                _Thank you, universe_ , she thought as she headed back to the parking structure. She wasn’t ready for the playful teasing yet, not when she was still so unsure about everything between them. She still didn’t know how to address the rolling pin incident.

                _Maybe I should get Amelia an apology puppy_. Imagining Percy’s face when he saw the dog made her laugh all the way down the stairwell.

 

 

 

+

                Harry gave the door a perfunctory knock before entering. Percy glanced up at him, then his eyes slid to the clock.

                “I was on time,” Harry explained, “but I had to spend five minutes in the lobby explaining to Eggsy that he wasn’t invited to our meeting.”

                “Surprisingly, I believe you.”

                Percy had a deceptively young face that Harry envied on occasion. They were only a few years apart but his softly rounded jawline and strong forehead made him appear to be in his late-thirties at most. The thin-rimmed frames perched on a dignified nose only added to his ageless allure, like a young man trying to appear older than he was. He wore his dark hair combed back, thick and neat without a hint of grey.

               Sometimes Harry imagined him as a robot, programmed to appear immaculate at all times. The thought of waking the man up at some ungodly hour just to see him with bed head had passed through Harry’s mind once or twice. He’d even offered Roxy the car of her choice if she’d snap a photo of Percy in a state of disarray, just to prove it was possible. She’d looked at him with a guileless smile and said that if such a thing existed, she’d never witnessed it.

               “How have you been?” asked Harry, knowing Percy’s general disdain for small talk. “How are things with James?”

                Percy adjusted his glasses. “Fine. James brought home a dog.”

                “That’s good?” asked Harry. He’d known Percy for more than a decade now and still could only fill a single page with facts about him, and that’s if he wrote very large. The man held his cards practically plastered to his chest.

                “It’s destroyed all of my rugs, one of which was an heirloom.”

                _Owned rugs_ , Harry mentally added to the list. “Not good, then.”

                “Decidedly not.”

                “Are you going to keep it?”

                The tightness in the man’s jawline was definitive. “We’ll see,” he said crisply. “Did you look at the reports?”

                “I did, actually. I see no problem with the profit margins.”

                “If you did, would that stop you from funding obscure projects that make no sense with our current business model?”

                “Our business model _is_ funding obscure projects. Haven’t you heard of Kiva? People want to be helpful. The big difference between Kingsman and every other financial juggernaut is that we actually want to help people.”

                “Good intentions do not solve everything, Harry.”

                Harry leaned back in his chair. “And yet I’ve already outlived my reprehensible father and the company still survives.”

                “To be honest,” said Percy, turning one of his screens towards Harry, “we’re actually seeing returns on our investments in Ecuador and Chile. Small ones, but they’re steady and growing.”

                Harry smiled. “Who’d have thought that, when given clean capital, these countries could prove more than capable of taking care of themselves?”

                “Yes, well. Russia is out. We lost all but one Russian investor the moment you announced our pro-LGBT and beyond stance.”

                Harry shrugged. “So Russia’s hands off. That’s a first for them. Let’s consider it a blessing.”

                Percy pulled his screen back into place. “Gazelle is going to be very unhappy that you’re leaving her out of this discussion, Harry. I’m a little perplexed that you excluded her.”

                “I have my reasons for that.”

                “I’m sure.”

                “Are you going to start lecturing me about Valentine now, too?”

                Surprisingly, Percy made a soft disgusted noise. “No. I’ve met the man and I find him and his ideas tiresome. He’s the kind of person your father would have liked.”

                “Greedy, charismatic, slightly psychotic?” Harry offered.

                “Precisely.”

                Percy was one of the few who still remembered what Henry Hart had been like. A gangster of sorts, a glorified bully who made his money off the backs of the working class and was loyal to nobody. He’d given Harry control of the company not with his blessing, but with the conviction that Harry wouldn’t be able to handle it and would suffer greatly with its downfall.

                Harry had gone to Percy the night his father died and told him that he was going to restructure everything. In or out? Percy had been fresh out of business school still, lucky to land a job at one of the biggest companies in the _world_ , and Harry had marched in saying he was going to implement a massive upheaval. It was career suicide. The entire board was dropped. Percy stayed.

                The stock value plummeted. Percy stayed. They lost investors. Percy stayed. He complained incessantly as he worked miracles. Harry hired a new security team and with it came James. After five months, Percy complained less.

                Their relationship was a never-ending source of fascination for Harry.

                “So,” said Percy, readjusting his pen at various points in front of him. “Since you almost never ask to meet with me about finance, nevertheless actually read my reports, I’m assuming there’s something else you want.”

                It was not the first occasion that Harry thought Percy would have made a good detective. Best to get right into it.

                “I need you to alter the posthumous chain of command.”

                This earned him a dark glare, as he’d expected. “I swear to God, Harry, if you want me to sign this company over to a pigeon or something in the event of your death—“

                “Actually, I want to sign it over to you and you’ve always reminded me more of a magpie.”

                Percy screwed his face up. Harry wondered which bit of information he was reacting to.

                “ _Me._ ”

                “Yes. With clear stipulations that Eggsy and Roxy become full-fledged members of the board. Should you also perish, I want the power to be split equally between them.”

                “The board isn’t going to approve this.”

                “The board isn’t going to know.”

                Percy slammed his pen down on the desk, the most demonstrative action Harry had seen him make in years. “Harry, you’ve eroded trust left and right. You _cannot_ make a change like this without board approval!”

                “Yes, I can. And I am going to.”

                “You’re that concerned about Gazelle? She’s been tireless, Harry.”

                “Yes,” he agreed. “But only about very specific things. I’ve been funding my ‘obscure projects’ as you called them for over a decade now, and she’s only recently starting to fight me about it. Even though, as your reports show, the company is doing better than ever.”

                Harry pressed his knuckles against his teeth briefly, the slight pressure soothing.

               “I tried to run away from all of this corporate bullshit when I was young. It seemed very clear that my father would outlive me out of sheer spite. He didn’t. I signed over my life to improving this company, to shaping it in a way that I could be proud of. I didn’t sacrifice my entire life so that the Kingsman Group could go right back to being what it was.”

              Percy rubbed his forehead for a moment, then sighed deeply. “All right, Harry. I’ll draw up the paperwork. Just do me a favor and don’t fucking die. I don’t have the temperament of a pariah.”

                “I will endeavor to never disappoint you.”

                Percy snorted. “Endeavor away, Harry. _But_ you owe me now. You’re going to the financiers’ gala.”

                “Fine.”

                Percy blinked back at him, clearly not expecting it to be so easy. “You’ll go. You’ll show up on time. You’ll be pleasant.”

                “I’ll be the very model of a modern major general.”

                “ _Harry.”_

                “I may even bring a date,” Harry added.

                Percy perked up at this. “Are you seeing someone?”

                Merlin’s unreadable gaze, his steady voice flittered through Harry’s mind. “Working on it. Why the excitement?”

                “Because the more you have to distract you, the less you can interfere with.”

                “Just for that, Percival, I’m going to start handling all of my own PR.”

                That dark glare was back again. “Call me by my given name again and your first announcement will be regarding your untimely demise.”

                Harry tugged his phone from his pocket. “I’ll have to inform Roxy about your threats against me. A matter of personal security, you see.”

                Percy looked suddenly pensive, the pen weaving through his fingers again. “Did Roxy come with you?”

                “Of course. She’s with James, presumably.”

                “Do me a favor and tell her that her parents asked about her.”

                Harry hesitated. He didn’t know why Roxy refused to talk to or about her parents, but it seemed unkind not to respect her wishes. “Are you sure she’ll want to know?”

                “I honestly don’t know,” Percy admitted. “My apologies, Harry. I’ll tell her later.” He made a quick notation in his planner, then looked back up with a quirk of his brow. “Any other earth-shattering decisions to be made today?”

                Yes, Harry thought, but they weren’t to be made here. “You’re safe for now, Percy.”

                The younger man sniffed, still visibly alarmed at the thought of inheriting Kingsman. He’d come around within a day or two. He’d probably end up excited about it, though he’d never admit it to Harry’s face.

                Harry rose and headed for the door. Time to find his ducklings, as Merlin called them.

                “Harry.”

                He paused with his hand on the door handle. Percy looked back at him with narrowed eyes.

                “If you ever tell James that I remind you of a magpie, I _will_ shoot you.”

                “Noted.”

               He’d barely opened the door when Eggsy stuck his face into the room. “Gazelle’s havin’ a meetin’ with Valentine.”

                Harry glanced back at Percy to see if he’d heard. He had, and was looking appropriately concerned about it.

                “She’s probably trying to appease him. One of those ‘we hear you but we make no promises’ kinds of meetings,” Percy suggested.

                A sensible response, Harry thought, and certainly a possibility. But Gazelle, while absolutely brilliant at her job, had started pushing in ways that Harry recognized. He was not half as foolish as he pretended to be most days.

                “That means it’s time for us to make our escape. Contact me when things are ready,” he said to Percy, who only nodded.

                “Roxy’s gonna meet us at the car,” Eggsy announced as they made their way to the elevators.

                “Perfect. Stairs,” Harry instructed.

                “You really don’t wanna talk to this guy, do you?” Eggsy asked, obediently pulling open the stairwell door.

                “I really don’t.”

                Roxy was waiting in the car for them. “Where to now?”

                “We’re going to visit a certain wizard,” Harry announced. The ducklings exchanged a quick look.

                It was Eggsy who spoke first. “You’re kiddin’.”

 

+

                Merlin’s house was a mix of wood and metal, at once modern and still warm. It had none of the stuffiness of a traditional country house while still maintaining its own personality. Eggsy liked it immensely.

                The drive ended in a huge wide rectangle between two garages, each with three sets of doors. The separate garage was closed up but the one that connected to the back of the house was fully open. The Jag was there, along with a bright red Alfa Romeo that would have seemed fine if it wasn’t for the entire engine being in pieces beside it. Each piece was precisely laid out and Eggsy suspected that if he had a ruler handy, he’d find the distance between all the parts equal.

                The tools were laid out similarly, on benches and pegs. Eggsy would venture that Merlin spent the majority of time in this space, judging by the large drafting table, the shelves of F1 paraphernalia, and the row of used mugs along one shelf, the only real sign of disarray.

                As they approached, Eggsy realized that the garage didn’t just house cars. On a massive cushion by the connecting door, a large German Shepard, a bulldog puppy, and a sleek tabby cat were curled up together.

The puppy gave a raucous bark, untangled itself from the cat, and came scampering out to meet them. Eggsy knelt down, letting it bound around on his lap, all fur and slobbery tongue and happiness.

                Merlin came through the connecting door holding a giant mug in one hand, and a sandwich in the other. If he was surprised to see them, he hid it well.

                “I can’t actually fix your car if you keep interrupting me.”

                “What makes you think I actually want it back?” Harry asked, his hands tucked into his pockets. Eggsy recognized that grin. Either they were going to get kicked off the property _very_ quickly or Harry was going to finally succeed at charming the man. He was probably still high off yesterday’s relative success.

                Merlin, master of the mild expression, had decided to ignore Harry.

                “I see you found Tarragon. Or he’s found you.”

                The bulldog nearly threw itself out of Eggsy’s arms in its excitement. “You named the dog after a herb?”

                “My niece did, actually. She’s eight.” As Merlin spoke, the cat stretched and began to wind itself around his leg. “This is Colin. Technically a stray. He started coming around about the same time I acquired Tarragon. Not the nicest cat in the world, but he loves that pup well enough. And this lovely lady,” he said, reaching down to rub the German Shepard’s ears, “is Gwen.”

                Tarragon yipped and tried to climb his way up Eggsy’s shoulder. Daisy would be awash with joy if she were here, Eggsy thought. He’d been giving serious consideration to getting a dog and the little bulldog was wearing him down.

               Harry reached over and lifted Tarragon from his arms. The puppy went mad, laving Harry’s face and snuffling enthusiastically. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” Harry said with a laugh, setting him down and tugging out his handkerchief.

                Roxy, meanwhile, had abandoned them after zeroing in on the F1 paraphernalia. She still stood outside of the garage at a polite distance, but her gaze was fiercely focused on the two rows of helmets.

                Merlin set down his mug and plate. “You can take a closer look.”

                Normally Roxy would defer, or at least go through the motions of polite refusal, but she wasted no time going right up to the shelves, her eyes bright.

                “Are these your championship helmets?”

                “These three are,” he said, joining her and motioning to the appropriate ones. Reaching up, he pulled down the second one—white with an elaborate design across the side in red and black--and handed it to her. “I was going to send it back with the Jag, but since you’re here you may as well have it now.”

                Eggsy didn’t need to see it up close to know it bore his signature. He grinned widely. So Merlin hadn’t been joking when he’d said he had something better in mind.

                “The red and black, this is from your second championship win,” Roxy babbled. “You overtook Julry on the last lap—just shot up on the inside and— _are you really giving this to me_?”

                “Really. Just wait until I’m dead before you post it on Ebay, it will be worth a lot more then.”

                “Are you _kidding me_? This is akin to a national treasure! I— _thank you_.”

                “Gonna hyperventilate, Rox?” Eggsy teased, but she didn’t respond. Tarragon had started chewing on Eggsy’s trouser leg; he picked the dog up again, making a cradle with his arms.

                Merlin surveyed him and Harry, then shook his head. “I feel like I’m about to be stuffed into the trunk and driven to a far away location.”

                Harry’s brow wrinkled but Eggsy laughed. “We’d let you sit in the back seat, bruv. We’re gentlemen after all.”

                “Actually,” Harry said, “I was hoping to borrow you for a moment. No coercion intended.”

                “I’m almost disappointed.” Merlin gestured for Harry to follow him.

                Eggsy leaned against the car, feeling restless. He felt like he’d discovered something significant this morning seeing Gazelle and Valentine, but he didn’t know what it meant. Harry didn’t seem too concerned about it, but then again Harry had a habit of keeping his thoughts to himself. Besides, it wasn’t like they’d been sitting in the conference room rubbing their hands together and cackling.

                In his arms, the puppy had begun to doze.

                Roxy had returned to the car and was clutching the helmet, her eyes riveted to the signature.

                “You gonna wear it?”

                “What? Ew, no. Do you have any idea how much F1 drivers _sweat_? That would be gross.”

                “Riiiiiight.” Eggsy waited another thirty seconds.

                “I’m totally going to wear it.”

                “Thought so.”

                She popped the trunk to stow the helmet. Eggsy stroked the puppy’s forehead with one finger, enjoying the little snuffles he got in response.

               “You think Harry would let me keep a dog?”

               “You too?” came the slightly muffled response.

               “What do you mean ‘me too’?” Eggsy asked, moving to join her. Roxy stared back at him, half a macaron in her fingers and an open box in her other hand.

                “Where’d you get those?”

                Roxy clamped the lid down before Eggsy could stick his fingers in. “They’re from Amelia. She was practicing and gave me the extras.”

                “She gave you extras in a heart-shaped box, did she?”

                Roxy’s cheeks were decidedly pink. “It’s probably something that was lying around.”

                “Rox, you’re a great fighter but a terrible fuckin’ liar.”

                She responded by popping the second half of the macaron in her mouth.

                “I’ll tell Harry.”

                “He’ll hardly care.”

                “He’ll go all over-bearing Dad on you. He’ll embarrass you _constantly_.”

                She stared at him. “You’re really blackmailing me?”

                “Yeah, over a _cookie_. Give me one, damnit.”

                She relented, holding open the box. “Just not the pistachio.”

                “Cheers.” Making sure Tarragon was well supported in the crook of one arm, he reached out. He took an orange one and, since she hadn’t immediately slammed the lid down again, a pink one as well. “So…you and Amelia.”

                It explained a lot. Like why Roxy was in the kitchen so much lately. And why she’d started putting more effort into her eyeliner. And why she’d started watching cooking shows.

                Roxy sighed, a giddy smile teasing the corner of her mouth. “I really like her, Eggsy.”

                “Great, what’s the problem?” The pink one was raspberry and it was amazing. He made a mental note to hire Amelia to make another batch. They’d be a great surprise for his mum.

                She mumbled something, eyes on the ground.

                “Come again?”

                “Imayhavehitherinthefacewitharollingpinonaccident.”

                It was written deeply into the friend code that you didn’t laugh at your friend’s mortification. Eggsy managed to resist about .01 of a second before bursting into laughter. The puppy woke up and started whining to be put down.

                “Eggsy Unwin, don’t laugh at me!”

                “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Okay. Was she mad?”

                “No! She wouldn’t stop apologizing to _me_. I feel like such an idiot.”

                “Were you like waving it around or what?”

                “I was trying to point at something and I just forgot it was in my hand. It was terrible.”

                “She’s clearly not upset,” Eggsy pointed out. Roxy gave him a furtive smile and opened the box again.

                “Do you want to make somethin’ for her?” he asked, chasing crumbs from his teeth.

                Roxy gave him an uneasy look. “What do you mean? I’m not very artistic.”

                “No, like food. I can help you, I’m not bad at it.” On Sundays he usually made breakfast with Daisy. He was becoming ace at shaping pancakes into simple animals.

                “But she’s a chef. Anything I give her she can make better herself.”

                “You’re missin’ the point. She’ll appreciate it, trust me.”

                “I’ll consider it.” Roxy inclined her head towards where Harry and Merlin were talking. “What are the odds that Harry gets slapped in the face? Also, if he does get slapped, what’s my responsibility towards his safety?”

                “You get one gift from the man and suddenly you’re having problems with loyalty? Good to know,” Eggsy teased. “Besides, Merlin seems more like the ‘one hit k.o.’ type. You know, a solid kick or punch to the head.”

                “He _is_ efficient,” Roxy agreed.

                They leaned against the trunk together and finished the last of the macarons. Eggsy snorted for a moment, earning a quizzical look.

                “ _’This is a national treasure!’”_

                It was good that the puppy had gone back to its cushion, because the punch Roxy landed on Eggsy’s arm in response was enough to make it go numb.

               

               

+

                Harry wondered if the time he spent surrounded by suits had given him an appreciation for casual wear. A tailored suit was attractive on nearly anyone, but Merlin’s fitted grey t-shirt was more arousing than any amount of pinstripe or silk lining. It also hid nothing, meaning that despite his age, Merlin really was in as good of shape as the taut fabric suggested.

                _Harry you arsehole, stop fucking leering at the man._

                He was at least pleased to find that his voice was level. “You’ve literally ruined any future gift by giving her that helmet. Everything is meaningless in comparison.”

                Merlin smirked. “Buy her a Porsche 918, that should tip the scales heavily back in your favor.”

                “That sounds like it would involve another ‘do not drive upon pain of death’ contract.”

                “For you? Most certainly.”

                Gwen had followed her owner. She moved with the slow, careful gait of an older dog and in response, Merlin had kept his strides easy. She ambled over and sniffed at Harry’s shoes for a moment before presenting her head to be pet. Harry obliged, enjoying the softness of her thick fur beneath his fingers. Merlin was quiet, but Harry got the sense that he approved.

                “All right, Hart,” he said finally. “What can I do for you?”

                Harry frowned. “If I’m supposed to call you Merlin, you can at least call me Harry.” It didn’t bode well if the man still thought of Harry by his last name.

                Merlin looked briefly perplexed, then relaxed. “Habit,” he explained. “Harry it is.”

                Gwen stretched, then laid down next to Harry’s feet, placing her head on her paws. Harry felt a spark of courage at this acceptance. _Stand straighter. Not too rigid. Christ_.

                “I’ve made some large decisions today, and I felt that I should continue this trend by making one more.”

                Merlin said nothing, only tilted his head to indicate curiosity.

 _I’m going to regret this, I’m going to regret this, I’m going to--_ “Have dinner with me,” he said quickly, his mouth moving before his brain could derail him.

                The only indication that Merlin had heard him was a slight tightening of his brow. It was hardly encouraging. “Or?”

                “Or?” asked Harry, confused.

                “You said it as a statement, which suggests that there’s an ‘or.’ A consequence if I decline.”

                “No,” Harry said hurriedly. “I was attempting to be smooth. Which in retrospect makes me sound like an ass. I beg your pardon.” He liked Merlin a little _too_ much to remain truly calm. It was also damn uncomfortable standing here being pinned under that intense stare. “If it’s all the same, I’ll leave now before I can do anymore damage.”

                “I like Italian.”

                Harry paused, his mind working furiously. Had Merlin just accepted? Judging by the barest hint of a smile, Harry’s affections were being returned, on the lowest of levels.

                And I refuse to go anywhere requiring a suit and tie.”

                “All right,” said Harry, still a little uneven. “I can work with those parameters.”

                “I will drive myself, you can text me the time and location. No boats.”

                “Why would there be a boat?”

                “Rich men always involve boats.”

                Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Harry raised his right hand. “No boats. No suit and tie.”

                Merlin was smiling openly now, putting a little flutter in Harry’s stomach. “Sundays are good for me.”

                “Is this Sunday too soon?”

                “You showed up to my house unannounced, two days after meeting me. I suspect delaying you is impossible.”

                “When you put it that way,” said Harry, feeling a rush of blood to his cheeks, “I feel like a creep.”

                “I will choose to consider it flattering this time,” Merlin responded. “Now go away.”

                A strange impulse tugged at Harry. “ _Or?_ ”

                He caught a glimpse of teeth as Merlin chuckled. “Or I’ll keep your car. Give it a proper home.”

                “That sounds more than fair.”

                Giving Gwen one last good scratch behind the ears, Harry headed back to the car. Eggsy was favoring his right arm and Roxy seemed pinker than usual. They both grinned brightly at him.

                He ignored them until they were well down the drive.

                “I need you to find me an Italian restaurant,” he told Eggsy. “Something just under formal, but with excellent reviews.”

                “Sweet,” Eggsy said, sliding his fingers across his tablet. “I love Italian.”

                “You aren’t invited.”

                “I am,” Roxy protested, pulling back onto the highway. “I’m your bodyguard, remember?”

                “Follow me and you’re fired,” Harry responded cheerfully.

                “And if you die I’m still out of a job,” she pointed out.

                “Does this mean you’re actually goin’ on a date with him?” Eggsy interrupted.

                “Yes,” Harry agreed. “I am taking note of how unsurprised you both are.”

                “We thought it’d be more work for us like. You know, should we break somethin’, should we—“ Eggsy slapped the back of the driver’s seat. “You owe me £20, Rox.”

                “Double or nothing they kiss.”

                “You’re on.”

                “I’m right here,” Harry reminded them.

                “Yeah,” said Eggsy, “so be a mate and don’t kiss him until the second date.”

                “That’s getting a little ahead,” Harry chided, but he smiled anyway. If the dinner ended with him getting to kiss that smirking mouth, it would be a good night indeed. He was looking at a long, impatient week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Merlin. Don’t be so pretentious, you’re wealthy yourself. Not Harry Hart wealthy, but still.  
> Also oh, Harry. Don’t you know you can’t just invite yourself over to people’s houses? Even if they’re hot. Stop trying to be charming and just be honest.
> 
> “Tarragon” is how my roommate refers to Taron. I lost a bet so she named all of Merlin’s pets. Gwen is short for Guinevere. 
> 
> Percy is Roxy’s godfather but she calls him “Uncle” and sometimes calls James “Uncle” as well since she's known them for a huge portion of her life.
> 
> Percy is Harry’s closest friend. When Harry inherited the company there were a LOT of late nights spent at the office with them surrounded by paperwork and takeaway, taking naps on uncomfortable sofas, plying each other with coffee until they were ready to jump out of the window. Percy always managed to look immaculate though and Harry hated him for it. Harry realized Percy was in love with James long before Percy did and maneuvered them together a lot. Basically Percy is surrounded by people who drive him insane.
> 
> This chapter was the death of me. Next chapter will be date night!


	4. Shakedown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ducklings play at being spies. Harry starts to realize that he might actually be the one being courted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shakedown — A brief test when a team is trying a different car part for the first time before going back out to drive at 100 percent to set a fast time.

                When Roxy left the mansion, she was surprised to find Eggsy out on front.

                “What are you doing here?” she asked, coming down the front steps. “Aren’t you supposed to be home?”

                “What, and miss the date?” Eggsy gave her a wide grin full of teeth. “Bet Harry’s still fussin’ over his hair, yeah?”

                “He left ten minutes ago,” she said. The DB9 unlocked with a sharp click.

                “You let him drive _himself_?”

                “I gave him the R8 with the launch control turned on,” she said. “He’ll be fine.”

                “How’s he supposed to get home?” Eggsy asked, sounding increasingly concerned. “What if he’s been drinkin’?”

                “Chill out, mother hen. He’s staying the night in London.” Harry kept a flat in London for when he absolutely needed to stay. Roxy had called ahead days in advance to have the flat opened and stocked and told Eggsy as much.

                He pouted for a moment as she opened the driver’s door. “Then what are you doin’?”

                It was Roxy’s turn to grin. “I am going to keep an eye on him, like a good bodyguard.”

                “Then I’m comin’ too,” Eggsy said, slinging himself into the passenger seat.

                “I figured as much.”

                They passed the time on the way into London playing “Would You Rather?” It turned out that Eggsy would rather fight sharks than alligators, be telekinetic instead of telepathic, and live in Harry Potter’s world than be rich and famous because “fuckin’ _magic_.”

                Roxy, on the other hand, chose telepathy for the advantage it would give her, chose to give up internet rather than her car, and would rather live in a perpetually bright house than a perpetually dark one due to her ability to sleep even in adverse conditions.

                “But your eyes would get used to the dark,” Eggsy pointed out. “You’d be like a cat.”

                “Cats don’t actually see well in total darkness,” said Roxy, as they pulled onto the street indicated by the sat nav. “Besides, I’d be blind every time I walked into sunlight.”

                “Who says you’d go outside ever again? You could just live in the house like a vampire.”

                “You say the most ridiculous things sometimes,” she laughed. “Oh, there’s the restaurant.”

                “Do you see him?”

                The car in front of her was stopped, which gave her enough time to search the visible patrons. “They’re right at the window. That’s lucky.” If she could get a spot outside the restaurant, they’d be able to spy easily.

                Roxy circled the block twice until a car pulled away just in front of the restaurant. It gave them a perfect view of Harry’s table, with just enough of the foliage to hide the car. As long as they weren’t particularly obvious and neither man stared out of the window for too long, they could observe in relative obscurity.

                “Guess we won’t need binoculars after all.”

                “That’s good, because I didn’t bring any.”

                “Why not?” asked Eggsy, sounding legitimately disappointed.

                “Because that’s not exactly subtle.”

                “We could have pretended to be spies,” he pointed out. Roxy snorted, but part of her was disappointed she hadn’t thought of it. Once, she and James had played Mission Impossible in the Kingsman building on a holiday. They’d started on random floors and worked their way through the empty building, trying to be the first one to disarm the other. Then James had accidentally pulled his gun on Percy, who had gone in to work in peace only to end up assaulted in the corridor by his trigger-happy boyfriend. Roxy had found them shortly afterwards by following the sound of Percy’s yelling.

                They’d been scolded for twenty minutes and James had to spend three nights in a hotel. They still agreed that it had been worth it.

                “We’ll bring them next time,” Roxy said.

                “You’re optimistic.”

                “Of course. We want this to go well.”

                “Speakin’ of things goin’ well, did Amelia like the croissants?”

                Eggsy had come up with the clever idea of actually making croissants and presenting them to Amelia, to make up for the previous failure. It had taken them six hours yesterday to make the croissants and another hour and a half to clean up the massive mess they’d made.

                “She loved them, actually.” Amelia had this little way of lowering her head when she was embarrassed or touched, that made her bangs cover her eyes. It was unbelievably endearing. “Thanks, Eggsy. I defer to your general wisdom on these matters.”

                He laughed. “And yet I’m the single one.”

                “Well once we get Harry situated, we can start working on your love life.”

                Eggsy snorted and shifted himself more comfortably in the car. Harry and Merlin were drinking wine and smiling and talking consistently. It appeared to be going as well as they could have hoped.

                “Harry’s really smitten, ain’t he?” asked Eggsy, his voice light.

                “I think so.”

                “Does it make you nervous?”

                Roxy glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

                Eggsy shrugged. “It’s just, I’ve never seen him like this. He looks really happy. He’s got us, he’s got Kingsman, but he’s always been a little…” He searched for the word for a moment. “Lost.”

                “You think Merlin will hurt him?”

                “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about the guy. He seems nice enough, yeah? But Harry deserves better than nice.”

                She’d never seen Eggsy so worried before. It made sense: Harry had done him a good turn—a great turn, in fact—which meant Eggsy had his back from now until eternity. It was Eggsy’s best quality.

                “Well, what do we know about Merlin so far?”

                “He likes animals.” Liking animals was probably Eggsy’s main criteria for determining a person’s worth.

                “He’s generous,” Roxy added. She’d put the helmet on the moment they got back to the estate and Eggsy snapped a bunch of photos with her inside every one of Harry’s cars. It was worth the sweatiness and tangled hair afterwards.

                “Organized.”

                “Sarcastic, but not pretentious.”

                “A better driver than Harry.”

                “A _way_ better driver than Harry.”

                They needed more data, but what they had looked promising.

                “Hold up,” said Eggsy, sitting up in his seat. Someone was approaching the car with a bag in tow. Roxy’s hand slipped under the back of her jacket, resting on the gun tucked into her belt. The man came around the car to tap on Eggsy’s window and they caught sight of his black apron.

                “Excuse me. This is from the gentleman near the window. He asked me to give this to you and also tell you that if you don’t go away, he really will fire you. His words.”

                “Thanks, bruv,” said Eggsy, slipping a ten pound note through the window in exchange for the bag.

                The waiter ducked his head before heading back into the restaurant. Roxy glared at Harry’s profile, willing him to look at them. “Harry didn’t even turn his head. How’d he know we were here?”

                “Harry’s awkward sometimes but he’s not dumb. He knows we’d never let him go out alone.”

                Still. They’d had their eyes on the two men since they’d parked. Had Harry just sent the waiter off in search of a DB9, assuming they’d be out there? Or had he actually seen them, employing some quicker reflex than her own? An insignificant detail, but Roxy didn’t like being bested at anything, especially something that fell under her purview.

                Eggsy, meanwhile, was digging into the boxes. “Alfredo, fuck yeah. And…some kind of mush.”

                Roxy glanced over, then brightened. “Ooh, that’s polenta, that’s for me.”

                The sound of rustling plastic and Styrofoam filled the car for a few minutes. This was quickly replaced by groaning, as they tried the food.

                “Sweet God,” Roxy moaned, all her concentration diverted to butter and cheese and a homemade ragu.

                Eggsy had thrown his head back against the seat after his first bite. Recovering, he pushed the container towards her. “There’s like bits of ham or somethin’ in here, try it.”

                “Try mine. It’s not mush, just taste it.”

                They swapped containers repeatedly, all interest in Harry’s date stalled for the sake of eating.

                “Good job on the restaurant,” said Roxy, after both containers were cleaned out. Eggsy had leaned his seat back, hands resting on his stomach.

                “Yeah. If it goes badly, s’ not my fault.”

                It didn’t appear to be going badly at all though. Both men were still smiling and chatting. Harry looked relaxed, which was the biggest indicator of all. They had no more use as spies, it seemed.

                “So,” asked Roxy, a little dreamy from the amazing food. “Should we move?”

                Eggsy had pulled his hat down over his eyes and slipped quietly into a food coma. “No way,” he mumbled. “If we stay he might send out dessert.”

                “Good point.”

 

                +

                “They’re still out there,” Merlin observed. “Your plan backfired.”

                Harry smiled around his mouthful of wine. “I didn’t actually expect them to leave.”

                “Two middle-aged men being chaperoned by children.” Merlin shook his head. “It’s honestly not what I would have ever expected.”

                It wasn’t what Harry would have expected either, at least not a year ago. Now, it was almost touching, that dedication. Or it was simply nosiness, but he was going to give them the benefit of the doubt.

                “Well you did say no boat. How else am I supposed to remind you how important and wealthy I am?”

                A small smirk curved Merlin’s lips. “I don’t think I could forget. You were on the cover of two separate magazines at the shop today.”

                “Was I?” Harry asked mildly. “I hope they used enough Photoshop.”

                It surprised Harry how calm he felt. The last time he’d gone on a proper date there’d been a lot less silver in his hair. When he was getting ready, he’d had a flash of envy over Percy’s youthful countenance, but the moment he’d seen Merlin, the worry had just drifted away.

                The former driver had chosen a pair of very dark jeans with a rich blue collared shirt that made his green eyes appear brighter. No watch, no rings, nothing else to distract or enhance. It made him seem rough, and Harry felt that thrill of danger he had upon meeting the man for the first time.

                Harry had played it much safer, choosing a simple black suit and white shirt. He’d abandoned the tie, out of deference to Merlin’s wishes, and left a few shirt buttons undone at his neck, hoping to appear vaguely rakish. He did, however, have on a very heavy, very expensive watch that he was having trouble ignoring under his coat sleeve. The temptation to fiddle with it was high.

                “They made your abs very pronounced,” Merlin assured him.

                “Excellent. I don’t even remember being shirtless, but I’m glad they’re putting in the proper effort.”

                Roxy had made him promise to behave naturally, which had at first seemed a daunting task, but had become easier as the night went on. Merlin seemed receptive to Harry’s brand of humor and had revealed himself to be very well-versed in sarcasm.

                “I think someone’s recognized you,” Harry remarked, catching the glimpses a whispering couple kept throwing at their table.

                “That makes it 5-1 in your favor.”

                “What, really?” Harry fought the urge to look around the room. Making eye contact with people was akin to giving them permission to approach him and talk endlessly. He disliked that on normal nights; he was even less receptive to interruptions tonight. “We must make an interesting sight.”

                “If it goes to the media, they’ll likely think we’re discussing your F1 contributions.”

                That _was_ something Harry wanted to discuss, but not now. That was a conversation for the future, if they got that far. He didn’t want it to seem like he was trying to buy Merlin’s affection—not that he suspected that would even work.

                As for the media, they could call this anything they liked.

                “Actually, I did want to ask you, what made you want to race?”

                Merlin leaned back in his seat, drawing his fingers over his mouth for a moment. Harry thought briefly of Eggsy’s bet.

                “I had a lot of reasons. Mostly I liked being able to eke out that little bit more from both the car and myself. Sometimes the car could do what I needed it to and it was whether I was brave enough to do it. Sometimes it was me pushing the car, seeing if the changes I’d made had an effect. It wasn’t danger I was chasing. I was simply trying to see how close I could get to perfection.” He smiled to himself briefly. “Arrogance aside, it was also damn good fun.”

                “Do you miss it?”

                “I miss parts of it. It really is an experience unlike any other. I still get to indulge from time to time. I do the odd test drive or developmental consultation.”

                That explained how Merlin could afford to maintain such a nice house.

                “I’m sad I never appreciated it properly when I was younger,” Harry admitted. “You make it sound appealing.”

                “You’ll get a small taste when I take you out.”

                Harry wasn’t sure what his expression looked like, but Merlin smirked in response to it. “On the track,” he clarified. “I haven’t forgotten that you agreed.”

                “I haven’t either, more like I’ve repressed the memory,” Harry responded.

                Merlin drank the last of the wine in his glass and leaned forward. “Is this the real Harry Hart talking?”

                “As opposed to my doppelganger?” Harry raised the bottle questioningly, then refilled Merlin’s glass.

                “Let’s just say you seem more genuine tonight than any other time I’ve seen you. I like it.”

                “Then it seems I’ve received some good advice. I probably have been rather erratic,” Harry admitted. “It’s been awhile since I’ve done any of this.”

                “Here I was thinking that my presence was simply overwhelming.”

                “You wouldn’t be half wrong,” Harry told him.

                The waiter came by to remove their plates. Harry asked for coffee and Merlin said he was fine with the rest of the wine.

                “And if you could bring a lemon cake and a tiramisu out to the car like earlier, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

                The waiter remained impassive, only inquiring, “And the message this time?”

                “No message, thank you.”

                Merlin snorted after the waiter left. “He’s going to have a fun time telling this story.”

                “One of my many abuses of power, no doubt. But he’s getting an excellent tip, so hopefully that makes up for the inconvenience.”

                “If this is what you consider an abuse of power, carry on,” said Merlin. “I don’t know much about your company, but I know it has an unpleasant history.”

                “That’s an understatement, but I suspect you’re being diplomatic,” Harry said, accepting his coffee from the waiter. He stirred in a small amount of both sugar and cream. “I don’t wish to be arrogant either, but I’ve been able to do a lot of good on the heels of so much evil.”

                “Bruce Wayne, is it?” Merlin teased.

                “Hardly,” Harry said with a quiet snort. “I have no secret identity and unless the countryside is taken over by a villain who fences, I’m not much use in a fight.”

                “You _fence_?”

                There was still a knife on the table. Harry twirled it in his fingers a moment and effected a light jab in Merlin’s direction. “But of course. I’m not completely hopeless.”

                Merlin laughed and shook his head. “I don’t why I’m surprised. I shouldn’t be.”

                “I’d be disappointed if you had me pinned so quickly,” said Harry, grinning back. “There are mysteries to me yet, I’ll have you know.”

                “Like?”

                “A gentleman never gives away his secrets.”

                “So then what do I, as a member of the common folk, have to do to earn this information?”

                _Go on another date with me_ , Harry nearly blurted out. He settled for a smile and a sip of his coffee. “You’re hardly common folk, but we can take turns. I’m not the only one here with mysteries.”

                Merlin sat a little straighter. “All right, I can play. Does that make it my turn?” He thought for a moment. “I’m not sure what you’d like to know.”

                “You said you have a niece. You have a sister then? Or brother?”

                “Sister. My parents still live in Scotland, but my sister and niece live just outside of London.”

                “Do you see them often?”

                “Often enough. We have dinner a few times a week. My brother-in-law is in the navy and spends most of his time overseas, so I like to check in on them when I can. And Maisie loves the dogs.” Harry wondered if Merlin realized how fond his smile was. It was the softest expression he’d seen on the man.

                “Maisie,” Harry said softly. “A lovely name.”

                He would have wanted that, he thought. Brothers and sisters, a hoard of nieces and nephews. He’d never given much consideration to children of his own, but growing up he had always wished for a large family, someone to share the burden. But he reminded himself that things may have turned out quite differently, and not necessarily for the better, if he’d had siblings. Still, the thought itched at him and he could not permanently scratch it.

                “What about you?”

                “Me? No family,” Harry said lightly. “Maybe a distant cousin somewhere.” His gaze slipped to the road where the DB9 was still parked. From what he could see, Eggsy and Roxy had propped the tablet up on the dashboard and were watching a movie. Eggsy sat up and gestured excitedly at the screen with a plastic spoon. Roxy shook her head in response, but she was laughing. “Actually, I misspoke.”

                “Your ducklings,” Merlin replied with a smile.

                “Indeed.”

                “Shall we leave while they’re distracted?”

                Harry slipped some cash into the check holder, drastically over-tipping as he’d promised. Merlin grabbed his elbow as he stood, steering him towards the back of the restaurant. “There’s a door this way, too.”

                A large portion of patrons glanced up as they passed, but Harry couldn’t be sure which of them they were looking at. Perhaps both. Merlin released him as they reached the back door, and then they were out into the cold night.

                He glanced over at Merlin, who was dressed lightly, but he didn’t seem bothered. That was all very well, since Harry had no intentions of handing over his coat. He was regretting the unbuttoned collar, but it seemed inelegant to mess with now.

                They walked with only inches between them. If Harry swung his arm a little more, it would brush up against the other man’s. His fingers slipped under his sleeve, twisting the watch band. It was almost a relief after an entire night of wanting to shift it.

                They circled around the restaurant, heading for the nearest parking structure. Neither spoke, but it was a contented silence. When the McLaren came into view, Merlin stopped a few paces off.

                “Are you parked close?”

                “One level up actually. I’ll see you off first.”

                “Are you okay to drive?”

                “No worse than normal,” Harry assured him. The coffee had worked wonders on his alertness and he didn’t have far to go. “I had a wonderful evening. Thank you for agreeing.”

                “I suppose I should thank you for your impulsiveness, even if it did smack of stalking.” He said this lightly, but Harry still felt a thrill of shame.

                “If I might ask, why did you agree?”

                Merlin shrugged. “The dogs seemed to like you well enough.”

                He was standing close enough that Harry could just lean forward and kiss him. Lord, he wanted too, but he’d been forward enough. The night had gone well and Harry was more than able to be satisfied with that.

                “So because I earned Gwen’s approval, I earned yours?” Harry asked. “Thank God she liked me.” He started to step back, but Merlin reached out and caught his elbow again, holding him in place with a light hand.

                “The joke’s on you,” Merlin said, leaning in. “Gwen loves everyone.”

                Harry felt the brush of Merlin’s nose against his cheek, then Merlin’s lips were pressing against his, warm and insistent. Harry reacted instinctively, tentative at first, then with more enthusiasm. He was just falling into the rhythm when Merlin’s tongue swiped across his lips and then was gone. Harry couldn’t help but feel a little shell-shocked. He hadn’t expected Merlin to take the initiative.

                Merlin’s hands were resting on Harry’s hips and he made no move to remove them.

                Harry chuckled suddenly.

                “What’s that for?” asked Merlin. His large eyes were luminous in the florescent lighting.

                “Eggsy just lost £40.”

                Merlin laughed, the sound soft and velvety. “Better make it worth his while then.”

                This time Harry met him halfway, remembering what it felt like to be young and smitten. He wanted more and less at once, his heart thrumming and head—well, his head wasn’t doing much of anything at the moment, just existing in blissful static.

                They separated but didn’t pull away, content just to breath quietly for a moment. Then Harry’s eagerness kicked in.

                “Does this mean I can ask you to dinner again?”

                The lines around Merlin’s eyes and mouth creased pleasantly. “What do you think?”

                “It’s ungentlemanly to presume,” Harry pointed out. “I’m not going to risk offending you again.”

                Merlin looked bemused. “You thought I was offended?”

                “It certainly seemed that way from my vantage.”

                “Surprised, definitely. But not offended.”

                That was a relief. “So then I _can_ ask you.”

                But Merlin’s hand slipped from his waist and formed a lazy wave. “You have my number.”

                Harry stood with his hands in his pockets and watched as Merlin revved the McLaren.  The sound set the hairs on the back of his neck up and he couldn't stop a shiver. The former driver threw him one last knowing smirk before driving away. Harry headed for his own car, running his tongue across his lips and tasting wine. He couldn’t stop smiling. He didn’t want to anyway.

                By the time he reached the R8, he had thought of a way of demonstrating his prowess that didn’t involve cars or boats, and was still a lot less benign than dinner.

                Harry sent Eggsy a quick text that read: _I will meet you at the flat. Pay Roxy. No jokes._

                To Merlin he sent: _Quick thought. How do you feel about helicopters?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James and Roxy playing spy games with each other is my favorite thing and I can’t get it out of my head. I think Percy pleads with her a lot to not indulge him, as though James is the one roping her in, when in fact the MI game was Roxy’s idea. And James takes the blame because he knows how much Percy dotes on her. :)
> 
> Short vanilla chapter this week, the calm before the storm if you will. It’s about time that things start to go wrong for everyone involved. My goal is to update on Sundays.
> 
> Also, I updated the tags. For the reader who was wondering if Eggsy would have a romance, YES. Chapter six will mark the start of that. :)


	5. Yellow Flag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin loses his cool. Harry gets tackled. Roxy has a brief meltdown. Eggsy’s brotherly tendencies come in handy. James and Percy share a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yellow Flag — This is held out when there is a slight hazard in the area, such as a car parked just off the track that has not yet been fully removed. When the yellow flag is waving then there is a more serious problem such as a lot of debris on track, or a damaged car."
> 
> You’re all getting this chapter early because I’m ahead of schedule this week and the next chapter is going to take AGES to finish.

                It had been two weeks since his first date with Harry and a week and five days since his second. Then there were the casual teas with the ducklings, who had become quite comfortable in Merlin’s presence and spent most of their time arguing playfully with Harry. This wasn’t even touching on the texts. Harry’s enthusiasm was endless.

                Merlin found he didn’t mind it at all.

                The helicopter had been a surprise though.

                When he’d first read Harry’s text, his inclination was to run far, far away. Then he considered it and found that he’d couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Exhilaration was hard to come by these days. It also helped that Harry had brought along an experienced pilot. Merlin had been relieved to learn that Harry’s bad luck with cars did not extend to aircraft.

                It wasn’t until after the flight (which had been damn good fun) that Merlin found out that Harry was more than capable of flying by himself. He’d known that Merlin would be anxious and had organized a second pilot just to make him feel comfortable.

               Harry was a considerate person, though he did his best to conceal this by appearing aloof. It almost frightened Merlin how quickly the man had woven his way into Merlin’s life. Almost. Part of him was glad for the interruption. He’d started anticipating Harry’s movements, checking his phone when he thought Harry would be out of a meeting or stuck in traffic.

                It was getting so bad that his personal life was starting to suffer for it. He’d already turned down two repair jobs because they’d interfere with days he planned to visit the estate. Test drives he couldn’t really avoid, but he did them efficiently and was back to texting like some smitten teenager afterwards.

                He barely managed to ignore the light blips from his phone when his sister was visiting. She’d likely find out about Harry soon enough, but for now their interactions were private, something for him to cherish.

                It had been a long time since Merlin had felt strongly about anyone, and even longer since he’d felt _this_ strongly. He smiled as he made his tea. His life was beginning to become complicated again, in the best possible way.

                It had been a quiet morning. Harry was in London, actually doing work for once, and Merlin hadn’t even gotten so much as a text from him. Either Eggsy had taken his phone or Harry was being responsible. The former seemed more likely. It seemed entirely possible that Merlin was going to get some uninterrupted work done for once. Still, he checked his phone and found himself slightly disappointed.

                Merlin opened the connecting door to the main garage and pressed the control switches. The outside doors opened one by one, filling the garage with grey light. The animals all filed out, nosing around at the damp ground just outside.

                He stretched his arms up for a moment, feeling a satisfying pull in his muscles. Then, kicking back the chair, he sat down at the drafting table. He hadn’t touched his sketches in days now. McLaren had agreed to let him play around with the designs for next year’s F1 car, provided he didn’t start thinking they’d let anything slide. It was all bluster on their end anyway, because everyone involved knew that they were chewing their fingernails waiting to see what he’d come up with.

                He pulled a heavy silver lighter from his pocket, clicking it open and shut in quick succession. He didn’t smoke anymore, but the lighter served a greater purpose as a fidgeting tool; ten minutes passed with only the sound of the cap flicking open and shut.

                His eyes flickered up to his phone, resting on the very edge of the table. It remained dark. There was nothing for it. For years he’d worked primarily in silence, relishing the peace. Now it was grating. Sighing, Merlin clicked on the TV.

                “…shooting outside of the Kingsman Group building in downtown London this morning. Police are saying that the intended target was Harry Hart himself, who has been taken to the hospital. We are not yet sure of the extent of his injuries…”

                Merlin was dimly aware of Tarragon barking at something—probably a bird—but his eyes remained riveted to the screen, not quite understanding what he was seeing. Then, like a kick in the chest, his heart slammed into overdrive. He grabbed his phone, swiping his thumb across the screen.

                His text thread with Harry came up, last night’s playful banter suddenly appearing decades old. _Call._

                It went straight to voicemail. Swearing, Merlin tried Eggsy, but the line rang out to voicemail as well. He didn’t have Roxy’s number.

                Merlin braced his hands on the drafting table for a moment, staring blindly at the designs in front of him. If it was that bad, someone would have called him. Right?

                It was stupid of him to think that. He’d known Harry for less than a month. He wasn’t exactly high on the list of contacts.

                His gaze flickered over to the rows of helmets, and he flinched.

                _I can’t do this again. I can’t go through it again._

                Gwen leaned her head against his leg; reaching down, Merlin pet her with shaking fingers. Didn’t they know how worried he was? He tried Harry again, then Eggsy, with the same response.

                The newscaster had looped back to her initial spiel. No new information. Nothing useful, just enough ambiguity to terrify him.

                He’d go to London—but, no. He didn’t know which hospital Harry was even at. It was likely that he’d get in the way. Harry would go back to the estate as soon as he was able, Merlin knew. It was the only place he was truly happy and it was far more secure than any place in London would be.

                Once again he found himself on the outside of disaster, with no more use than the last time. He paced through the garage. _Click, click. Click, click._ He manipulated the lighter until his thumb felt sore. Again, voicemails.

                It wasn’t until nearly 2 pm that Merlin’s phone blipped. He snatched it up and read the message.

                _[Harrys fine resting @ home. More later]_

Fuck if he was going to sit here any longer. Merlin herded the animals back into the house, then grabbed his coat and keys. Harry may have escaped a shooter, but he wasn’t about to escape Merlin.

+

               

                Today had been the hardest day in a _long_ time. Eggsy felt like he’d aged seven years in as many hours. First had been the meeting with Gazelle, which was tense at best because it was had while she was on her way out. Eggsy had scrambled to meet her fast pace and Harry’s long strides, all while trying to keep up with the rapid fire conversation they were having.

                Gazelle had _still_ been talking as she slid into the backseat of her car, never a single wasted moment with her. When her driver finally pulled the car away, Eggsy had taken a deep breath, then turned to Harry to say something snarky. That’s when the shots rang out and it all went to hell.

                Threats came in occasionally, mostly long rants from idiots who just wanted to complain. James handled these, making changes to the security protocol as needed. Eyes opened wider for a few days, then everything went back to normal. This was the first significant event since Roxy had put down the knife-wielding psycho last year.

                The shooting had rattled everyone except Harry, who seemed remarkably good-natured about it all. He’d been almost annoyingly calm, his only qualm being his broken phone (for such a small woman, Roxy had a strong tackle). Aside from some tense words spoken with Percy that Eggsy didn’t quite understand, Harry had been rather silent all day.

                Meanwhile, Eggsy had spent most of _his_ day updating board members and in near constant contact with Percy, who had still not found a suitable PR candidate and was now forced to issue the statements himself. Gazelle had also issued several statements, remaining calm and powerful as usual. Eggsy wished he had half of her bearing. The board members had fairly rampaged over him until she’d taken over, laying them flat with a glare and several choice words.

                Roxy had taken it the hardest. She’d reacted the moment the first shot went off, tackling Harry to the ground. When the rest of the security team arrived, she’d joined James in the hunt, but the police cut them off almost immediately so James sent her with them to the hospital. She’d been like a wolf, stalking the hospital hallways and staring down every person who dared look in Harry’s direction.

                Harry’s only damage was a sprained arm and a cut on his chin, both souvenirs of Roxy’s enthusiastic treatment.

                They’d since gone home, sneaking Harry out the back of the hospital to avoid the press. A small escort had followed them back to the mansion, which had doubled security in their absence. After flitting about and finding there was no real use for her energy, Roxy had disappeared upstairs.   

                She was sitting on her bed with her knees pulled up, staring at nothing in particular. Eggsy tapped at the door frame. “Hey, Rox.”

                She jumped up, eyes narrowed. “Did something happen?”

                “No, no,” Eggsy said, splaying his hands out in a placating manner. “Everythin’s fine. I just came to see you.”

                Within seconds, Roxy’s shoulders lost their rigidity. She collapsed back in on herself with a sigh. “I feel so stupid.”

                Eggsy sat down next to her, feeling his own limbs relax. “What for?”

                “Harry’s only injuries came from _me._ ”

                “From you protectin’ him. Look, if you hadn’t gotten him down, it could have been much worse, yeah? We could not have a Harry at all.”

                Roxy gave him a scathing look that he wasn’t expecting. “And if the shooter was any better it wouldn’t have mattered. Don’t patronize me.”

                “I’m _not_.”

                She looked immediately guilty. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

                “S’kay. Just…look, Rox, we’ll be better now. You’re not doing this all by yourself, okay?”

                He saw her hesitate for a moment and he opened his arms to her. Roxy hugged him immediately, tightly, like she’d been waiting for this all day. He ran his hand across her back in comforting sweeps.

                “I know you’re like Wonder Woman and Batman mashed into one, but let the rest of us help out some, yeah?”

                She laughed and pulled away. “What, not Superman, too?”

                “Superman is borin’, and you’re anythin’ but,” he replied with a wink.

                Her laughter quickly morphed into concern. “What about you? Are you okay?”

                “Fuckin’ worn, but yeah. I’m okay.”

                Roxy’s com cracked to life, startling them. Geoff’s voice filled the room.

                “Miss Roxy, we’ve got Mr. Davis here.”

                They exchanged glances. “I texted him,” Eggsy explained. “Didn’t think he’d come though.”

                Roxy grabbed the com. “It’s okay to let him in, Geoff. Thank you.”

                “So he _was_ that worried.”

                “See?” Roxy was wearing her “I-told-you-so” face. “He’s just as invested as Harry.” Then her eyes darted over his shoulder and she dipped her head down with a sudden shy smile.

                Amelia hovered in the doorway, holding a tea tray set for two.

                “I thought you guys might want some cheering up,” she said gently.

                That tray was not meant to be shared with him and he knew it. “I’ve actually gotta let Merlin in,” he said, pulling the door open all the way so Amelia could fit the tray in. “But you should hang with Rox, keep her from thinkin’ too hard, yeah?”

                He nodded at Roxy, catching her grateful smile, and headed down the stairs. He was ready to go home. With a full security team in place and Harry in for the evening, there wasn’t much use for him. Eggsy found himself wishing there was someone he could share his nervous energy with. The problem with this job was that it made his life very insular.

                He hadn’t minded at first, considering what he’d left behind. Still, everyone around him seemed to be connecting with someone else, widening their small worlds. Eggsy couldn’t help but feel that tonight, of all nights, he’d rather be in someone else’s world than his own.

 

 

+

 

                Merlin jogged up the stairs to the front door, annoyed by his anxiety. The entire drive he’d been tapping the steering wheel and fiddling with the controls. He’d taken advantage of the McLaren’s 600+hp engine and probably pissed off several speed cameras on the way.  

                “He’s okay?” he asked the moment the door opened.

                “He’s fine,” Eggsy confirmed, stepping aside to let him in. “He sprained his arm—well, Roxy did it when she tackled him to the ground. He’s enjoyin’ the attention.”

                “So the shooter missed.”

                “Wasn’t even close. He’ll be really happy to see you.”

                “So happy he couldn’t let me know he was alive, you mean?” The words spilled out before he could stop himself, dripping with bitterness.

                Eggsy’s eyes widened briefly. “Look, his phone was smashed. Today’s been a bit hectic for all of us, bruv.”

                Before Merlin could respond, Eggsy added, “Harry’s in his office. Take it out on him, yeah? Minus being shot at, he’s had the most peaceful day of everyone involved.”

                Then Eggsy brushed past, pulling the front door shut behind him.

                Merlin sighed. So everyone was wound up. He should have expected that. He climbed the stairs to Harry’s office, finding the door wide open.

                Harry was tapping at his computer screen left-handed, an uncharacteristically focused expression on his face. Then his eyes slid towards the doorway and his expression brightened. “Logan!”

                Merlin ignored the use of his given name, more intent on confirming Harry’s welfare. His right arm was in a sling, and there was a small bandage along his chin; he seemed otherwise fine.

                “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” Then, with a teasing hint that made Merlin’s blood boil, “What’s the occasion?”

                “Really?” Merlin asked, his annoyance lending an edge to his tone. “Should I not be here?”

                Harry’s smile faltered. “Are you okay?”

                “No. You were shot at.”

                He seemed on the cusp of another joke and Merlin just glared, daring him. Thankfully for both of them, Harry reconsidered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize my being glib was upsetting you.”

                “It would upset me less if I’d known you were okay this morning. You couldn’t borrow someone’s phone to tell me? Or are we not at that point yet?”

                “Are we?” Harry asked, tugging idly at his sling. His gaze remained focused on Merlin. “I didn’t want to presume.”

                Merlin stalked across the room in five steps. Placing one hand in the center of the desk, he grabbed Harry’s collar with the other. He crushed their lips together, as though an angry kiss could convey all the fear and anxiety he carried. Harry made a small noise of surprise, then relaxed. His good hand came up to rest on Merlin’s neck; he could smell the hospital on Harry, and it made his muscles tense.

                He pulled away, inhaling sharply. “You’re surprisingly stupid, Hart.”

                “I’m afraid you’re right,” Harry murmured, looking dazed. He ran his thumb across the bandage on his chin, which, Merlin realized, he probably irritated by his attack.

                “Damnit, are you okay?”

                Harry’s warm brown eyes met his, then the older man smiled. “None the worse for your treatment, if that’s what you’re worried about. Probably better.”

                Merlin heard his former teammate’s voice in his head, chiding _“Temper, Merlin. You love people as though you’re angry with them.”_

                But he was angry. He was still angry at Anton, though that was a useless anger that would never find an outlet. With Harry, at least there was the potential for resolution. It rankled, how much Harry was starting to mean to him. Merlin had spent a good portion of the drive up resolved to end things; it was the only way he could think of to protect himself from the promise of another loss. He wanted a relationship where the person he loved wasn’t going to crash into a fence, or be shot. He wanted the promise of _life._

                There was no way to insure that though. And now that he was here, he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to go back to the peaceful life, the silent phone, the pre-Harry Hart existence that had sustained him for so long. At the same time, he needed Harry to understand that the feigned carelessness had to _stop._

                “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

                “I’m not hoping to make a habit of being shot at,” Harry remarked. “ _However_ ,” he continued, cutting off Merlin’s growling response, “I promise to never leave you in suspense again.”

                Merlin dropped down onto the sofa, scrubbing a dry hand across his face.

                Harry came around the desk to stand near him. His voice was soft, an adult comforting a child. “To be honest, I hoped you were working and hadn’t seen the news. I was planning on calling you.” He ran his thumb across his new phone and Merlin’s contact information came up instantly. “It was never my intention to make you worry.”

                “Yeah, well. If we’re going to do this, I’m going to worry. And you’re going to have to bump me higher up your contacts list, because I swear to God, Harry, I don’t want to be given the same information as the general public for _six hours_.”

                He jumped up again and started pacing. _May as well get it all out_. “And stop with your proper gentleman act. The one you use when you’re trying to put distance between yourself and others. I fucking hate it. We’re not young men anymore, Harry. I’m not naïve, I know relationships are awkward messes half the time. What doesn’t help is when you profess to like me and then suddenly act like we’re strangers.”

                He wasn’t expecting Harry Hart to blush, but the faint edge of color along Harry’s cheekbones spoke volumes. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I do like you. That makes me want to act like less of a fool.”

                Merlin sighed. “You don’t need to fucking impress me, Harry. I’m here, aren’t I?”

                “Yes,” Harry said softly. “Yes, you are.” He cleared his throat and Merlin caught the shift of emotions, the sudden flutter of the masks Harry wore changing. “I’m sorry, Logan. The distance was meant to protect you, and me. Instead it ended up hurting us both, I’m afraid.”

                “I forgive you,” said Merlin, and he did. He flopped back down on the sofa, feeling very worn. “But don’t call me Logan.”

                “ _Merlin_ , then,” Harry said, with a gentle roll of his eyes. He sat beside Merlin, crossing his legs at the knee. “Do I ever earn the right to call you by your real name?”

                “When you become my mother, you do.”

                “Oh, now that’s unfair.”

                “That makes us even.”

                Harry shifted his arm and winced.

                “Roxy really tackled you?” asked Merlin, reaching up to adjust the sling where it crossed Harry’s shoulder. It was tight and probably imprinted in Harry’s skin under his cardigan. He loosened it, generating a sigh of relief from the older man.

                “She’s stronger than she looks.”

                “Clearly. Are you really all right?”

                “Really,” Harry assured him. “It’s not the first time someone’s tried to kill me, though hopefully it will be the last.”

                “If Professional Harry is anywhere near as frustrating as Personal Harry, your security team is going to be busy forever,” Merlin remarked, taking Harry’s free hand in his own. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the cushions, relaxed for the first time since he’d woken up today. Harry’s thumb trailed along the side of his hand and over his fingers, the motion smooth and calming.

                “Are you a hundred percent against suit and tie?”

                “ _Why?_ ” Merlin asked, glowering through half-lidded eyes.

                “It’s the damn Financiers’ Gala on Friday. I agreed to go in return for a favor but it’s going to be bloody uncomfortable.”

                “Oh, so you want me to go and be uncomfortable with you.”

                Harry grinned. “Exactly.”

                “Won’t that complicate things for you? Would I be your date?”

                “You would absolutely be my date. Or if that bothers you, my business associate. Whatever you’d like. Though I may have mentioned to our accountant that I’d be bringing a date. Also, I’ve been known to cause problems. It’s why I have a CEO who terrifies everyone who meets her.”

                It sounded thoroughly unpleasant, though it would be interesting to see more of Harry’s world. More importantly, it would keep Merlin from fretting. If he was _with_ Harry, then he’d know about any dangers immediately. And if Harry wasn’t worried about the attention their relationship would draw, then Merlin couldn’t think of a good reason to be worried either.

                “I’ll go, if only to keep an eye on you.”

                “I’ll have plenty of people keeping their _eyes_ on me,” Harry purred, suddenly amorous now that he had Merlin’s forgiveness. “I’d much rather have your hands on me instead.”

                They’d been necking and groping like schoolboys for the past two weeks. This was the most direct Harry had been, and of _course_ he had to starting flirting when he was injured.

                Merlin did his best to affect boredom. “Behave yourself at the gala and I just might.”

                “Promises,” said Harry. “But here we are with an empty evening ahead of us.”

                “And you with a sprained arm,” Merlin pointed out.

                “It’s just an arm. There are plenty of things we can get up to without it.”

                Merlin pulled his hand away. “You’re forgetting that I’m still upset with you.”

                “Yes, you demonstrated that quite enthusiastically earlier.” Harry caught Merlin’s grimace and just smiled gently. “Can I at least prevail upon you to stay for dinner?”

                “I can handle that.”

                “Good,” said Harry, and that infuriating grin was back. “I’ll need someone to cut my food for me.”

                “I might just stab you instead,” Merlin responded dryly. Harry tugged his phone out again. “What are you doing?”

                “Making sure my bodyguard is joining us for dinner.  I suddenly don't feel safe.”

               

+

 

                Percy rubbed his eyes, then glanced at the clock. What a miserable day. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and now it was way past dinner. It had been a long time since Harry’s life had been properly threatened; probably some conservative nutbag who didn’t like decent human beings.

                Still, it was nothing to laugh at. The police hadn’t found him (or her, Percy thought) yet and until they did, everyone was going to be on edge. He was especially worried about Roxy, who he’d barely been able to speak a word to. She’d had that focused intensity that belied a serious hurt and had brushed off his attempts at expressing any kind of concern. He made a mental note to check on her again tomorrow.

                Percy had spent most of the day working on the posthumous chain of command change that Harry had requested weeks ago. When Harry had asked him about it this morning, Percy had been embarrassed to admit he’d put it on the backburner. He didn’t bother making excuses, just assured Harry it would be done and officiated before the end of the week.

                In truth, there were discrepancies in the newest financial reports that had him concerned. He’d run the numbers three times: none of them were mistakes he’d made. Yet he had no solution. It bothered him that the mystery went unsolved, but Harry’s request couldn’t be delayed much longer.

                He’d also hired a PR manager who was both incredibly adept and rather easy on the eyes. The public would love him. Better yet, Percy wouldn’t have to go anywhere near another camera.

                Slipping his glasses back on, Percy shut down his computer. It was really abysmal timing, just days before the gala. Now the guests would be murmuring about danger and potential instability. If they were fortunate, the shooter would be caught _soon_ and it could be spun into something beneficial.

                What a sad thing, he thought, that a friend’s life should be seen as a financial bargaining chip.

                Locking his office door, Percy pulled it shut with a sigh. He turned to see James slumped in a chair, which he must have dragged from the closest sitting area. Percy took the few steps between them, standing right above the sleeping man.

                “James.”

                James awoke with a start, his eyes darting all around the hallway before focusing on Percy.

                “What time is it?”

                “Past nine. What are you doing out here?”

                “Waiting for you.” He smiled that infuriatingly endearing smile that he used when he knew Percy would be annoyed with whatever he had to say. “I wasn’t going to let you leave by yourself. It’s not safe.”

                “This building is under 24-hour surveillance,” Percy pointed out, keeping his expression flat. “You didn’t need to escort me personally.”

                “Yes, I did,” James replied, uncharacteristically serious. He rose and brushed his hand along the curve of Percy’s collar, reshaping the fabric. It only took a few seconds, then he was tucking his hands into his pockets. He rose up on his tip-toes for a moment, stretching out his long legs.

                Percy sighed. “How long have you been waiting for me?”

                “Only a few hours.”

                “A few _hours_? James, why in God’s name didn’t you just come into my office?”

                He smiled again, taking Percy’s briefcase as though it was a heavy bag he needed assistance with. “I know how much you hate to be interrupted while you’re working.”

                That was true, but for James to take it so seriously made Percy even more irritable.

                “You’re an idiot.”

                “Yes,” James agreed cheerfully.

                They didn’t talk on the way home, content just to walk side-by-side. Their flat was only a few blocks from the Kingsman building and the exercise was usually welcome after a long day behind a desk. Tonight though, Percy simply felt exhausted. He was grateful to have James beside him. They matched their strides, taking comfort from the steadiness.

                When they got in, James went straight into the bedroom. Percy wandered into the kitchen instead, staring woefully into the fridge. He was too tired to eat but too hungry to ignore. He was contemplating the merits of takeaway this late in the evening when a pair of strong arms hugged his waist. James pressed a kiss against his neck, just at the base of his hairline.

                “Shower’s on. Go relax for a bit and I’ll find us something to eat in the meantime.”

                Percy twisted in his partner’s arms, then yanked him down by his tie. His kiss was almost petulant, and he felt James’s smile against his mouth. “Stop being so damn nice all the time.”

                “As you wish.”

                “ _Don’t_ ,” Percy warned. He wished Roxy had never shown them that stupid movie. It was bad enough those two quoted it to each other constantly, but James fancied himself as Wesley, which made Percy the princess who was starting to get sick of the charm.

                James only pressed their foreheads together and beamed.

                “You’re wasting water now, get.”

                “Fine, but you’re coming with me. We’ll figure out food after.”

                James hesitated, then followed like an eager puppy. They were almost in the shower when Percy heard the teasing, “ _As you wish._ ”

                His frustrated groan echoed in the bathroom. “Shut up.”

                “I can’t stop my mouth from moving, if only there were some way—“

                Cupping James’s face in both hands, Percy leaned up slightly to bridge the distance between them and covered James’s lips with his own. Long fingers slipped loosely into his hair, mussing the combed strands in all directions. Steam clouded Percy’s lenses as the shower ran beside them. He pulled away.

                “ _Now shut up._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …I have a lot of Percilot feels right now. This is supposed to be Harlin all the way but Percy and James aughhhhh. *lies down and covers self with trash*  
> James would love to be Wesley. The clever swashbuckling hero with excellent quips? Oh yeah, James is all over that.
> 
> Merlin is more of a romantic than he likes to let on. He likes to act cool but he’s just an intense toddler with a lot of emotions, while Harry is a giant baby who refuses to take things seriously when he really should. They both suck at emotional adulting as far as I'm concerned.
> 
> The next chapter will likely be late because it’s the gala and it’s enormous. Also the rating will be going up so anyone uncomfortable with that, please do be aware.


	6. Traction Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry hides behind a potted plant. Eggsy has a crush. Roxy plays wing(wo)man. James worries. Merlin gets frustrated with buttons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Traction Control: Onboard computers that work to maximize speed and prevent loss of grip, wheel spin, and drifting. Currently banned under F1 regulations.

                Merlin’s insistence on driving himself everywhere and Harry’s insistence on not spending a moment trapped in the gala on his own had led to this: waiting down the street from the hotel, shuffling around in fancy dress. Harry didn’t mind one bit, because it kept him away from where he least wanted to be, while he waited for the person he most wanted to see.

                Behind him, Eggsy and Roxy milled about but didn’t speak. Even further back behind them, an attaché of four guards shifted restlessly on the pavement. Harry had suggested abandoning them but Roxy was not in a playful mood after the shooting. Besides, James had picked a particularly sprightly bunch that didn’t seem at all deterred, even when he instructed Roxy to drive three streets past the hotel and make a sudden left.

                The leader of the small group, a strong-jawed man named Saito, had asked upon them reaching their destination if Harry had been “delaying the inevitable, Sir?” His smile dared Harry to try anything, which, if he hadn’t made a deal with Percy, and if he wasn’t wearing his very best suit, Harry might have done. There was still a chance Merlin would be agreeable tonight and they could give Saito and his men a little training exercise.

                “I told you not to wait for me.”

                The low Scottish tone made Harry stand a bit taller. He appraised Merlin as he approached, his pulse climbing at the sight of his date in a criminally-fitted suit.

                “I honestly didn’t think you owned a suit.”

                “Yours is not the first soiree I’ve had to suffer through,” Merlin replied, tugging at his collar. “Though it’s a little tighter than it was the last time I wore it.”

                “An added benefit from where I’m standing,” Harry teased.

                “Cheeky.”

                Harry was about to say fuck the gala when Eggsy came up to greet them. “Lookin’ smart there, Merlin.”

                “I could say the same for you.”

                “Cheers,” he replied with a wink. Eggsy was in his first tuxedo, and he’d railed against the tailor’s suggestions, insisting on a deep blue silk bow tie instead of the standard black. With his hair curled to the side like Harry’s, he looked every bit the protégé, and every bit as obnoxious, Roxy had been quick to point out.

                Roxy had stuck to a simple, well-made black suit that gave her a full range of motion and a straightforward means of concealing weapons. Harry, however, had made her a gift of a crisp white collared shirt whose buttons were Swarovski crystals. Even in the dim night lighting, she glimmered with every movement, cutting an altogether more magnificent figure than any of them.

                Merlin raised his brows upon seeing her, and she smiled back, fully aware of her brilliance.

                “We’re a half hour late now,” she said, stepping to the side so Merlin and Harry could go in front of her.

                “Shall we?” asked Harry, offering his arm.

                Merlin’s lips twitched before he accepted. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

                “I was going to wear the sling, but Eggsy negated it.”

                The touch upon his arm was already light, but Merlin had pulled away until just his fingers were resting on the inside of Harry’s forearm. “Does your arm still hurt?”

                “No.” Harry winked. “But it would prevent people from shaking my hand.”

                “Impossible man.”

                “Oh, no. You’ll want to save that assessment for later. I haven’t even started.”

                “He hasn’t,” Eggsy piped up from behind them. “He’s a right bear at these things.”

                Merlin leaned close. “Remember our agreement.”

                “Like I could forget,” Harry responded. Merlin had insinuated earlier in the week that certain rewards might be given should he behave himself tonight, and he had every intention of doing so. Within reason.

                “Velvet lapels?” Merlin asked, trailing a quick finger over the fabric.

                “I’m a hedonist,” Harry responded.

                “You’re a show-off.”

                “I’m sorry, which of us made a career out of driving _really_ quickly to a lot of fanfare?”

                “And yet which of us has never crashed a car?”

                “Well.” Harry didn’t have a remark for that, but the little smirk Merlin gave him was worth losing for. Harry was going to take immense pleasure in kissing that smirk and every other one off Merlin’s gorgeous smug face—

                He became suddenly aware of the noise and light around them. As they entered the hotel ballroom, Harry felt his muscles tense. It wasn’t that he was bad at these events (he could win a gold medal in smooth talking, if pressed), it was that he simply _hated_ them. Merlin’s thumb rubbed gently on the inside of his arm. All right, so tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

                With that in mind, Harry marched them up to the man who was responsible for all this misery in the first place.

                “Hello, Percy.”

                The accountant had been invested in a glass of red wine, but he recovered easily. “Good evening, Harry. You’re late.”

                “I’m here,” Harry responded cheerfully. “Meet Merlin.”

                He enjoyed the brief consternation on Percy’s face before Merlin held out his hand. “Logan Davis, actually.”

                “He’s here to keep me out of trouble,” Harry added.

                “It seems I’ve been relegated to the role of chaperone,” Merlin mused.

                “Better you than me,” Percy responded without a hint of sarcasm.

                Before Harry could respond, James came up behind Percy. He was dressed in black for once, but his bow tie was his trademark bright green. Harry imagined there had been an argument about that one.

                “Harry, stop trying to give your guard escort the run around and— _oh_.” James paused, his smile frozen as his eyes settled on Merlin. “Roxy wasn’t joking was she? You really are—“

                Percy cleared his throat. “James, this is Logan Davis. Mr. Davis, please excuse my coworker.”

                “He’s just getting started,” Eggsy muttered.

                “Quite an honor, Mr. Davis. I watched your races with great enthusiasm in my youth.”

                “Thank you. And Logan is fine.”

                “James is head of making sure I don’t die,” Harry added helpfully.

                This dragged James’s attention back to Harry. “Which would go a lot smoother if you didn’t do ridiculous things like try to lose your detail in traffic or stand on an open sidewalk in an impossible-to-cover area.”

                “If a sniper is going to have a go at me, it won’t matter how well-guarded I am. Do you have guards stationed in the hotel air ducts, James?”

                Harry meant it as a joke, but the man’s gaze went past his shoulder, to Roxy, and they both narrowed their eyes.

                “Excuse me,” said James, presumably stalking off to cram some poor man or woman into an air vent.

                “Try to be pleasant for two hours, Harry,” Percy requested, taking the last glass of wine from a passing tray and replacing it with his empty one in a fluid motion. He turned to Merlin. “Good luck, Logan.” Then he was off, bravely sacrificing himself to the gathered guests in the name of Kingsman.

                Harry leaned over to murmur in Merlin’s ear. “How come they can call you Logan?”

                “Because I’m not going to repeatedly ask a roomful of people to call me Merlin. It’s easier this way. Don’t be jealous.”

                “But I’m so very good at it.”

                “I’m going to find us some drinks. In the meantime, you have admirers. Behave.”

                Before Harry could make a flirty retort, Merlin slipped away. He had barely a moment before a familiar metallic sound became apparent. Gazelle. And to his horror, Richmond Valentine was with her.

                “Mr. Hart! In the flesh at last.”

                Harry smiled. It would be the first of his unpleasant encounters tonight and the universe was making him dive right in. “Mr. Valentine, it’s a pleasure.”

                Valentine was dressed _oddly_ , to say the least, in a coat and tails, a pair of clear glasses with a second lens, and a black leather baseball cap that jutted slightly to one side. There was a comfortable irreverence with how he carried himself that made Harry almost grin. He probably would like Valentine, if one could remove all the man’s egotistical monopolistic leanings and questionable morality.

                “They told me you never come to these things, not a fan of _parties_.”

                “I am a fan of good company, however,” Harry responded easily, inwardly amused by Valentine’s prominent lisp. He wondered if it was a front the man put on. Harry was no stranger to building a caricature of oneself for the benefit of the public. It could be an excellent smokescreen, as well.

                Otherwise the man was just as colorful as the media claimed, which made Harry’s stomach clench a bit.

                “Mr. Valentine is one of our largest contributors,” Gazelle told him, her dark eyes promising a swift death should Harry misstep.

                “And we are exceedingly grateful,” Harry added. “My apologies for not meeting with you sooner. My life has been alarmingly busy as of late.”

                “I heard,” said Valentine, and he was still smiling where a spot of concern would have been appropriate. “Still haven’t caught the damn shooter yet, have they?”

                “Not that I’ve heard.” Then an impish impulse took Harry and he added lightly, “I hope I didn’t offend you so badly.”

                This drew raucous laughter from Valentine, startling a few of the guests around them. “You are a funny one—Gazelle, you didn’t tell me he was so funny!” Gazelle’s expression said very clearly she didn’t find him funny, though she forced a brief smile that didn’t meet her eyes. He dabbed theatrically at his eye with one finger, then said, a touch more solemn, “I’m afraid I have no stomach for violence, Mr. Hart. Not all of us are Hollywood types.”

                “I see. Well I should still like to meet with you, that is unless you feel otherwise.”

                There was a calmness in Valentine’s gaze that told Harry everything. “Oh, I’ve abandoned that project for now. But I’ll be in touch.”

                “Of course. Enjoy the party.”

                Harry became very aware of the knot in his stomach as Gazelle and Valentine left to find alternative company. There was a shift behind him; he glanced back to see Eggsy looking amazed. He and Roxy were still lurking, though at a safe distance to avoid the chit chat.

                “You got off easy.”

                “So I did. It would appear that Gazelle has managed to charm him quite well.”

                “Well she’s good like that.”

                Harry turned, puzzled by the clear admiration in the boy’s voice. Eggsy paused, eyes widening. “What? What did I say?” Then—“ _Oh._ You don’t think—“ Roxy cleared her throat.

                “I think many things, Eggsy, but they aren’t meant to be discussed here.”

                Eggsy nodded, glancing sharply at Gazelle, who was chatting easily with several ambassadors. Roxy met Harry’s gaze and rolled her eyes.

                “Who else should I smooth over?” Harry prompted, if only to get Eggsy to stop looking so painfully obvious. The boy jumped into Assistant Mode, pointing out various people that would benefit from a few moments of his time, and Harry obliged.

                After twenty-five minutes of this, Harry ducked behind a large potted plant, having successfully lost both Eggsy and Roxy.

                “Mind if I intrude?” came a low, Scottish tone that both relaxed and invigorated him.

                “I wish you would,” Harry responded, taking the champagne flute Merlin offered him and wishing it was something stronger. “It’s not even been an hour and I’m desperate to escape already.”

                “Was that Richmond Valentine earlier?”

                “Yes. Who for all his earlier enthusiasm didn’t seem particularly interested in speaking with me.” Granted, he’d already talked with Gazelle about—well, Harry didn’t really know what. Gazelle’s assurances that they’d only touched upon the potential for future joint projects did not reassure him. If Valentine was content, it meant something was happening that Harry would not like.

                He needed to find Percy and ask him about the posthumous changes. With any luck they’d go through before the shooter came back to have another go at him. He also needed to decide what to do with Gazelle.

                “You’re brooding,” Merlin warned him.

                “Thinking,” Harry corrected, but he straightened and softened his expression nonetheless. It wouldn’t do to look suspicious. Besides, his job tonight was to smile at investors, not glower at them.

                Merlin was an excellent distraction. Harry’s eyes dragged along the curve of the other man’s ass, enjoying how the slightly-too-tight suit clung in all the right places. He wouldn’t be the last to ogle Merlin tonight, that was a given.

                “You do look incredible in a suit, you know.”

                “I am aware. That very pretty blonde woman by the pillars had a grab at my arse earlier.”

                Harry followed his gaze and snorted suddenly. “You, my dear Merlin, have been groped by a princess.”

                “Excuse me?”

                The surprise on Merlin’s face made Harry laugh. “That’s the Princess of Sweden.”

                “I see. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be in high demand.”

                “I’m feeling rather put out,” Harry remarked, trying to sound like he was a man experiencing great suffering, which wasn’t particularly difficult. “I’m not allowed to call you Logan, I’m not allowed to show any tactile appreciation for that obscene suit…”

                “Down, boy.” Still, Merlin smirked as he took a sip of his champagne. “Hopefully I won’t have to wear it much longer.”

                _Christ._ Harry swallowed, finding his mouth dry. He drained the flute, then snagged another from a passing waiter, who looked briefly shocked to see an arm darting out from the foliage. “You bastard. I still have _at least_ another hour’s worth of small talk before we can leave.”

                “Better stay focused then.”

                “I _am_ focused.”

                “On something besides my _arse_ , you bastard.”

                “It’s fit enough to attract royalty, so you can hardly blame me.”

                “That’s harassment, Mr. Hart.”

                “You’re welcome to stare at mine in return,” Harry offered.

                Merlin’s smirk widened, showing a hint of teeth this time. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

                Harry swallowed a curse, and a lot more champagne.

                A group of dignitaries was trying to catch Harry’s eye. He offered them a smile, preparing to head over. “Excuse me while I embarrass myself in German for the greater good.”

                Merlin fell in step beside him. “Need some help?”

                Harry blinked at him. “You speak German?”

                “Fluently. We racers aren’t just mindless adrenaline junkies, you know. Some of us are highly educated.”

                “Feel free to educate me,” Harry murmured, before grinning widely at the dignitaries. “ _Guten abend_.”

 

+

 

                Eggsy laughed into his drink as he saw Harry take another definitely unsubtle glance at Merlin’s arse as they headed back into the crowd.

                “At this rate they’re going to start humping each other in a corner,” Percy remarked, pushing up his glasses by the bridge.

                “I think it’s cute,” Roxy said, but it was clear she was holding back laughter. She’d been following Harry at a discreet distance, but decided to peel off and join Eggsy when it became too much to bear. “Although, I think we’re going to need to get rooms here tonight.”

                Eggsy groaned. “All my spare clothes are at the flat!”

                “ _You_ risk being blinded then,” Roxy replied with a shrug.

                Percy sighed in disgust. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

                “I guess this means I owe you another £40,” Eggsy said to Roxy, who glanced over to Percy with an anxious look.

                The accountant fixed them with his eagle-eyed glare. “You’ve been betting on the development of their relationship?”

                “Uh, maybe a bit? Just casual like,” Eggsy stuttered. It was impossible to get through a conversation without offending Percy in some way. He ought to just give up altogether, he thought.

                Then Percy’s brows relaxed and he said, “And you didn’t think to include me?”

                Roxy and Eggsy exchanged surprised looks.

                “What?” Percy said with a smirk. “I’ve known Harry longer than anyone in this room. If anyone is in a position to make bets based on his behavior, it’s me.”

                “Too bad Eggsy didn’t consult with you first then,” Roxy teased, “because he keeps losing.”

                “Who’s _that_?” Eggsy interrupted, his eyes on a tall man standing just across the room from them. He had black hair finger-combed into a sweeping style and when he smiled, it filled his entire face. He wore his suit like a lover, easy and intimate. Eggsy was finding it difficult to focus on anything else.

                Percy followed his gaze. “That’s Tristan. He’s our new PR head.”

                _Fuck, he’d be working with the guy?_ Eggsy didn’t know if he was lucky or cursed right now.

                Roxy’s elbow nudged the hollow of his back, light and teasing. “Would you introduce us?” she asked Percy.

                “Of course. You may as well meet him now.” Percy strode forward, completely oblivious to their motivations. Roxy threw back a significant look that Eggsy ignored, opting to take a deep breath instead.

                The people Tristan had been entertaining moved away as they approached.

                “More names to remember?” Tristan greeted them cheerfully.

                “These should be a little easier, you’ll have heard them already,” Percy said. “This is Roxy, Harry’s personal security officer, and Eggsy, his assistant.”

                “That does make it easier,” Tristan agreed. “I’ve already heard wonderful things about you both.” Eggsy’s heart beat a bit quicker as they shook hands.

                “You’re American?” he blurted out, his mouth betraying his brain like so many times before.

                But Tristan didn’t seem remotely bothered. “That’s right, you have an imposter in your midst, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, I’ve prepared myself for all your jokes.”

                “Tristan was head of PR for our American branch,” Percy explained.

                “Did Percy poach you?” asked Roxy, drawing a sharp look from her godfather.

                Much to Eggsy’s pleasure, Tristan laughed. “Not at all. I was happy to relocate.”

                Percy’s eyes kept darting around them. He seemed abnormally distracted, which would have worried Eggsy if he wasn’t so focused on the handsome American with his perpetual grin.

                “Excuse me, I need to grab Harry while I have the chance,” said Percy, disappearing abruptly.

                “And I need to speak with James about security…things,” added Roxy. “A pleasure, Tristan.”

                Tristan raised his hand in acknowledgment, then turned his smile fully on Eggsy. “It’s been a bit of a whirlwind tonight.”

                “You’ll get used to it,” Eggsy assured him. “It’s not normally like this.”

                “That’s not what Percy told me. Well, he did say the attempted murder was new.”

“               Usually Roxy is the only one threatenin’ to shoot Harry.”

                “Not you?”

                “Nah. I favor a more direct approach,” Eggsy said, making a loose fist.

                “I’ve seen my fair share of brawls,” Tristan admitted. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that to Percy. I may have left that off my resume,” he said with a wink.

                Eggsy examined the man’s perfect cheekbones and well-shaped nose; either he was lying about brawling or he was exceptionally good at it. No way a face that nice survived a real fistfight.

                “I can see you don’t believe me,” Tristan said, and Eggsy started, having been caught staring. “It’s okay, neither do most of my opponents. I use that to my advantage.”

                “Smart. I should prolly work on my mystique a bit. I guess I have the kind of face that says ‘punch me.’”

                “That wouldn’t be my first inclination,” Tristan said lightly, so gentle it could have been a tease.

                They sized each other up for a moment. Tristan looked a good 4-5’’ taller, but Eggsy was quick and solid. He’d also been punched in the face before, whereas he still reckoned the other man hadn’t. _But seriously, who would punch such a gorgeous face anyway_? he wondered.

                “I know who I’m calling to have my back in a bar fight,” Tristan joked.

                Eggsy laughed anxiously, rubbing the back of his neck and finding it hot. “Well, you have my number.”

                “Actually, we skipped that part.”

                Eggsy blinked. “Percy didn’t give it to you?”

                “Not yet.” Tristan pulled his phone from his slacks. “How about I get it from you now?”

                Eggsy gave himself a mental pat on the back for managing to say all the numbers in the right order.

                “Right, so. You ever need a pair of fists, or just an audience, you know where to find me. And not a word to Percy, I promise.”

                “It sounds like we’ll be working closely together,” Tristan said, flashing Eggsy another of his warm grins that made Eggsy want to curl up on the floor. “I’m looking forward to it.”

                There’d be no more teasing Roxy about Amelia, or Harry about Merlin, or anyone about anyone at this point, Eggsy realized. Not unless he was ready to be teased back tenfold. “So am I,” he mumbled back. _You have no fucking idea._

 

+

                “You weren’t kidding about Logan Davis,” James remarked as Roxy approached. “He is a lot of man.”

                “Ooh, I’m telling Uncle Percy.”

                “I may look, but I would never stray. Besides,” added James, smiling as he found his partner in the room, “he’s not as handsome as my man.”

                Roxy made a quiet gagging noise. “Why is everyone being so disgustingly adorable tonight?”

                “Everyone?”

                She motioned briefly at Eggsy, who was a bit pink in the face as he stared adoringly at Tristan. It reminded James of exactly how he’d looked every time Percy was in the room back when he’d taken over security. James turned a gleeful look at her. “We’re killing the conservatives. I love it.”

                She rolled her eyes.

                “You look beautiful tonight,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She accepted the affection gracefully; her eyes continued scanning the room, always alert, but she was beaming.

                “I see Uncle Percy was forced to compromise.”

                James laughed, adjusting his bright green tie. “Indeed. He was indignant for over an hour.”

                To be honest, Percy had only made a cursory fuss about the bow tie. James had been keeping an eye on Percy throughout the evening, watching him drink more than usual. He’d been so tense lately, though he wouldn’t say why. Right now he was talking with Harry, and neither of them looked pleased about it.

                “How’d it work out with the dog?”

                “Hm? Oh. That didn’t work out so well.” They were still replacing the rugs. James had thankfully found someone willing to restitch the heirloom rug, but for an exorbitant fee. It was going to be a surprise for Percy, and hopefully a peace offering. “I found him a good home.”

                Roxy patted his shoulder. “You should have told us. Eggsy’s been wanting a dog for Daisy.”

                “If I’m honest, he wasn’t a very good dog,” James admitted. “Percy can be uptight, but he was right about this.”

                “Are you suggesting you should act more like him?”

                “We both know I can’t,” James said, laughing. “Maybe for an hour.”

                “I’m glad,” she replied. “Who else would I get to play childish spy games with?”

                Just then Harry moved away, leaving Percy alone with his fourth glass of wine for the evening.

                Before he could say anything, Roxy inclined her head. “Go. I know you’ve been waiting.”

                “You’re incredible, Roxy.”

                “I know,” she grinned. “Now go.”

                James moved fluidly through the small groups between them, then stopped a few feet away. Percy’s gaze flickered over; he didn’t seem surprised to see James.

                “No one is subtle tonight.”

                “I’m never subtle,” James reminded him, reaching for Percy’s glass. Surprisingly, he relinquished it. James took a sip, letting the wine roll across his tongue before swallowing. Nothing remarkable. Percy must be desperate to suffer through so much red wine, he thought.             

                “Is everything okay between you and Harry?”

                “Fine. I was talking to him about some of my concerns regarding the reports.”

                “You’re always concerned about the reports.”

                “It’s my job,” Percy replied, a hint of annoyance coloring his tone.

                James took another sip and gazed across the room.   “I know. I wasn’t trying to be dismissive.”

                Percy sighed. “My apologies. Things have been tense.”

                “You _can_ talk to me, you know.”

                To his surprise, Percy reached out and gripped his arm. It was a quick motion, just a slight squeeze before he tucked his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been a bastard lately, haven’t I?”

                “You’ve been nothing of the sort.”

                Percy snorted. “You’re so diplomatic. I have some things to take care of in the morning, but why don’t we leave the city tomorrow?”

                James stared at him, sure his mouth was agape. Yes, it definitely was. “You’ve had a lot to drink. You don’t even sound like yourself.”

                “I’m serious,” Percy insisted. “Overnight. On the expense account. Harry really owes me.”

                “Okay,” James said, trying not to sound too excited. Trying to get Percy to leave the city was a battle he’d lost on countless occasions. For all he knew, Percy would wake up sober tomorrow, having changed his mind. “Where are we going?”

                “We can decide tomorrow.”

                A mini-vacation _and_ Percy was winging it? “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

                “If you keep pressing, yes, because I will punch you.”

                Ah, there he was. “Shall I accompany you in the morning?”

                Percy took the glass back and drained it. “No, you pack. It shouldn’t take me very long.”

                “You’re letting _me_ pack _?_ You’re feeling magnanimous.” The last time James packed, they’d spent a very cold weekend sans jackets, and had to make a late night venture for toothbrushes and extra socks. They’d had scotch though, which James thought made up for the lack of outerwear by providing internal warmth.

                “I think it’s time I did things differently,” Percy said lightly.

                “A mid-life crisis, is it?”

                Percy gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Something like that.”

                There was something vulnerable about Percy tonight. Little hairline fractures in an otherwise impervious piece of marble. James wanted nothing more than to drag him from this overdressed pit of snakes to the safety of their bed, and his arms.

                Percy’s eyes met his, dark and tired and needy. They could do it. They could leave.

                A voice crackled in James’s earpiece. Saito.

                [“ _Hart has left the premises in the company of his date. I’m afraid we lost them.”]_

                “Son of a bitch,” James grumbled. “Why does he think this is a game?”

                “The flat,” Percy interrupted. “Harry’s disappeared, right? They’re at the flat. You can station his team outside. I imagine he’ll be plenty safe tonight.”

                With a quick inhale, Percy straightened, his expression mild. “I have some other people to greet.”

                “Percy…”

                But that brief reckless moment had passed, swallowed up by Harry’s giant shadow, as so many parts of their lives were. Harry had no idea the problems his carelessness caused; if he did, he probably wouldn’t be so blasé, James figured. That didn’t stop him from resenting the man in moments like this. He watched Percy mix back into the glittering bodies, then touched his ear piece, directing Saito and his team to the downtown flat.

 

+

                “I’m not going to wake up with your head of security holding a gun in my face for this, am I?” asked Merlin, glancing in the rearview mirror. Harry’s insistence that his guard detail could use a little challenge had worn Merlin down. It _had_ been fun sneaking out of the hotel. It was a little less fun considering the consequences.

                “James is too polite for that and lucky for you, Roxy likes you.” Harry leaned back, looking properly relaxed for the first time that evening.

                “As long as the news doesn’t start banging on about how I’ve abducted you.”

                “I wouldn’t complain.”

                Merlin tugged his bow tie open with one hand, the other pulling the steering wheel left, per Harry’s instructions. “Where exactly are we going? We were already at a hotel.”

                “A hotel swarming with people whose arses I’m required to kiss. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get well away from them.”

                “Fair enough. You didn’t answer my question.”

                “Right up here. What kind of rich bastard would I be if I didn’t have a flat in London?”

                Merlin stopped just outside the building, letting the McLaren idle. “Only you would call a fucking penthouse just a _flat_.”

                “You have a six-car garage,” Harry pointed out.

                “Ten,” Merlin replied automatically. “There’s another building in the back.” He grimaced. “All right, we’re both rich arseholes.”

                Though if Merlin was rich, Harry was a word for wealthy that didn’t quite exist. The penthouse was a monstrosity of metal and glass, modern and gleaming. The sofas were cream, the dining table could seat twenty, and Merlin hadn’t realized flat screens could be made quite so big, nevertheless hoisted from the ceiling like that.

                “This is literally the most obscene place I’ve ever been in.”

                “Horrible, isn’t it?” Harry remarked. He tossed his keys on the marble kitchen island, next to an ornate glass bowl filled with identical green apples, arranged symmetrically. “I keep it for when I absolutely have to stay in London. At least the beds are nice.”

                “If you hate it, why not get a proper flat?”

                Harry’s voice was long-suffering. “Because you can’t entertain foreign investors in a proper flat.”

                He led Merlin down the hallway, which was _mirrored_ along one side. It allowed Merlin to catch Harry’s suggestive smirk. Yes, those could be fun. Later.

                He followed Harry into the master bedroom, which, for all its size, was mostly bed. He raised his brows, and Harry grinned.

                “I told you it was nice.”

                “Shall I throw you onto it?”

                Harry slid his hands under Merlin’s jacket, dragging the fabric down his arms. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt your back.”

                “Fuck you, Hart,” Merlin replied, without heat.

                “That’s the plan.”

                Harry had the jacket in one hand, presumably to lay it over a chair, but Merlin stopped him with the press of his lips. Harry hummed against his mouth and dropped the jacket at their feet, twining his arms around Merlin’s neck. It was a surprisingly tender motion that would have amused Merlin if he wasn’t so turned on. While taunting Harry at the gala had been great fun, Merlin hadn’t escaped unscathed either.

                He nipped at Harry’s lips until they parted. They tasted champagne on each other’s tongues, while hands slid down chests, across hips, skirting dangerously close to teasing one another through their slacks. Harry leaned into Merlin until the backs of his knees hit the bed, then started tugging his shirt free.

                “You weren’t kidding,” Harry said breathlessly, opening the button of Merlin’s slacks so he had enough space to slip his hand in. “These _are_ tight. Must have been damn uncomfortable.”

                Merlin groaned as Harry’s hand closed around his cock, which was more than half hard already. Fuck, he’d spent the entire night half hard, trying not to stare at the little space under Harry’s ear that he wanted to suck and mark so badly.

                Harry started to speak, then shook his head. “I can’t do it.”

                “What?”

                “I feel ridiculous calling you ‘Merlin’ when I’ve got my hand down your trousers.”

                Of all the fucking moments to joke. “Then stop fucking talking,” Merlin hissed back, swallowing whatever response Harry was going to make with the press of his lips and teeth. He dragged Harry’s hand from his trousers so he could pull at the man’s jacket, treating it rather unceremoniously and daring Harry to comment.

                The jacket landed on the floor with the other, then Merlin began his battle with the shirt buttons. His fingers tugged impatiently at Harry’s collar, accomplishing little. _This_ was why he hated suits. What was wrong with a t-shirt? Yank up, off, done.

                A press of teeth along his lower lip made him pause.

                “Allow me,” Harry said, pushing away Merlin’s hands. “I have more practice, after all.” Merlin waited, focusing on Harry’s eyes to slow the beating of his heart. They were a rich, luminous brown, so intent, even when Harry’s expression was otherwise lazy. He never got tired of looking at them. Reaching up, Merlin carded his fingers through his lover’s hair, feeling the lightly oiled strands come loose. Harry’s eyes briefly fluttered shut, his fingers reaching the end of his shirt.

                He leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to Merlin’s neck, just above his collar. One by one, the buttons slipped free and Harry’s mouth followed, until he stilled at the waistband of Merlin’s slacks. Harry smiled mischievously as the last button came free. “There. No need to be frantic.”

                Merlin vowed to remember those words as he dragged Harry back up and pushed him onto the bed. The shirts joined the growing pile on the floor, bright white against the stark black.

                He may have been stymied by buttons, but Merlin had no problems with zippers. He tugged Harry’s slacks over his hips, then tossed them onto the floor, leaving Harry in only pants and—“Are you kidding me?”

                “What?” Harry asked, twisting to follow Merlin’s gaze. “They hold my socks up.”

                “Are your socks made of silk?” Merlin mocked him.

                “That would be impractical.”

                “Because sock garters aren’t?”

                “If you’re just going to make fun of me, I’m going to leave.”

                Harry had rolled onto his stomach, but Merlin flipped him onto his back once more, bracketing his body with his knees. “Liar. Besides, isn’t this _your_ flat?”

                “Penthouse,” Harry teased, then gasped as Merlin’s hand gripped him through the cool silk of his pants. Then Merlin was dragging those off, too, exposing Harry fully to his greedy gaze.

                “Merlin…”

                He thought of responding with something snide about how suddenly Harry didn’t have a problem calling him by his nickname, but decided to put his mouth to better use, closing his lips around the head of Harry’s cock and sucking gently.

                The response was a strangled grunt as Harry kicked out one leg and grabbed at the blanket. Merlin took him deeper, letting his tongue play along the veins of Harry’s prick, tasting salt and skin. One hand slipped down to tease Harry’s balls, then lower to nudge at his opening with a knuckle, just a slight brush that made Harry twitch.

                “You… _ah_.”

                Merlin pulled off Harry’s cock with a wet sucking sound, unable to hold back a grin. “No more jokes?”

                Harry breathed heavily for a moment, and Merlin knew his brain was trying to re-orient itself quickly enough to come up with a quip. He wasn’t going to let it get there. As he handled the snaps on Harry’s sock garters (fucking _sock garters_ ), he worried the older man’s lips, feeling them hot and slick under his own.              

                Harry moaned against his mouth. “I’m going to feel you on my lips for days.”

                “That’s the point,” Merlin said, licking across the slightly swollen flesh.

                “Christ,” Harry hissed, throwing his hand out to bat at the nightstand. “Here, here.”

                Merlin paused to shuck off his own trousers and pants, giving his cock a few perfunctory strokes to ease the pressure a little bit. The nightstand was well-stocked with condoms and lube, as well as a closed black box that piqued Merlin’s curiosity a bit. Judging by the needy sounds Harry was making beside him, that curiosity would have to wait.

                He’d clearly anticipated this, which Merlin was grateful for. His suit, as much as it had pleased Harry, was far too tight to secret bottles of lube (not that he hadn’t tried before leaving his house). Merlin grabbed what he needed and turned his attention back to Harry, who met him halfway with a desperate kiss.

                “Impatient,” Merlin mumbled, pushing Harry back into the pillows with one hand.

                “It’s not often I have a gorgeous _celebrity_ in my bed,” Harry responded, shifting as Merlin coated his fingers. “I think people were more excited to see you than me tonight.”

                “That’s because you’re an ass,” Merlin responded.

                “Speaking of.”

                Harry made a beautiful sound as Merlin traced his hole with one lubed finger, gently loosening the tight flesh before pressing in.

                “Ah, _Christ._ More.”

                Merlin placed one hand on Harry’s thigh to brace himself, and Harry immediately grabbed his arm, running his fingers along the muscles there. It sent a shiver into Merlin’s toes; he shifted on his knees, feeling his cock briefly rub against the duvet, and stifled a groan at the contact. He wanted to yank Harry’s legs over his shoulders and bury himself inside the man. Judging by the sounds Harry was making, he wanted the same thing.

                Merlin exhaled slowly, the lube on his hand molten from being in contact with Harry’s body. The older man huffed, tightening his grip on Merlin’s arm.

                “Are you okay?”

                “I’d be better if you added another finger.”

                Merlin obliged, and Harry threw his head back, the tendons in his neck stretching invitingly against his skin.

                “Are you always so demanding in bed?”

                “Take it…as a compliment. _Fuck_.”

                Merlin curled his fingers, brushing up right where he needed to, and Harry _jumped_. He rewarded Merlin with a garbled mess of profanity, which was cut short when Merlin brushed his prostate again and again.

                “That’s good,” Harry gasped. “I mean, _enough_. It’s good _and_ enough.”

                Merlin chuckled at Harry’s harried attempts to express himself, arousal making proper grammar oh so unimportant compared to the promise of being fucked. “Another moment then.”

                “ _Merlin_.”

                “Don’t be so dramatic,” Merlin chastised. Still, he slid his fingers free and Harry’s hips followed for a moment.

                “I wouldn’t be so dramatic if you’d just fuck me,” Harry panted back, as Merlin tore open a condom. “You bloody _tease_.”

                “What was that?” Merlin asked, rubbing his slicked cock against Harry’s arse, enjoying the way it made Harry shudder and hiss.

                “I swear to God, if you don’t fuck me now—“

                His threat devolved into a hitch of breath as Merlin pushed forward, opening him slowly. One hand gripped the duvet; the other Merlin caught with his own, letting Harry’s nails dig into his skin as he inched forward. It was only when he was fully seated that Harry exhaled, his body trembling.

                “There,” Merlin whispered, smirking down at him. “No need to be frantic.”

                Harry let out a breathy laugh, then groaned as Merlin wrapped his fingers around his lover’s cock, stroking lazily.

                He tried to get a rhythm going, but _Harry_. For all the perfect posture and cultured tone, Harry in bed was anything but controlled. Merlin had to settle for shallow thrusts at first, while his lover shifted and moaned and writhed, dramatic and incredibly gorgeous at the same time. He could hardly be frustrated, not when Harry gripped him so beautifully. Besides, he’d been so aroused all night that he didn’t think he had the stamina for more than this.

                He dragged his fist up Harry’s cock, smearing pre-come with his thumb, and was rewarded with a whimper as Harry’s body slackened.

                “Merlin, I—I.”

                _This_ was what he’d wanted to see: the curl completely mussed out of Harry’s hair, his lips red and tender, eyes wide and soft and fixated on Merlin.

                “I’ve got you, Harry. Let go.”

                Harry came with a low moan, shuddering in Merlin’s grip. His moans turned into whimpers as Merlin stroked him through the aftershocks, until Harry was boneless beneath him. He began chasing his own orgasm now, with deep, desperate thrusts.

                “Harry,” he breathed, little spots of light starting to wreck his vision. “Open your eyes, yeah? Just for a moment.”

               Harry complied, looking dazed at first. Then he reached out, bringing Merlin’s hand up to his mouth, and, eyes fully fixed on Merlin, licked the cum from his fingers.

                “ _Harry, fuck—_ “

                His shout was dulled by the tinny sound in his ears and everything around him went white for a second. Then he was leaning over Harry’s body as that devilish tongue continued sucking at his fingers. When Harry was satisfied, he pressed a kiss to Merlin’s palm.

                “Good?”

                “Fucking great,” Merlin replied breathlessly. “You’re the goddamn devil.”

                “Now who’s being dramatic?” Then Harry shifted, mumbling, “Towel.”

                “No, no. I’ve got it.”

                Merlin rose, a little unsteady, and headed into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. There were a dozen towels of varying sizes in the bathroom cabinet, much like he’d expected, folded with the precision that only an experienced maid could provide. He took a couple and dampened them with warm water. His legs were still a bit shaky as he made his way back to the bed.

                Harry’s dazed expression shifted into sleepiness as Merlin gently cleaned away their fluids and sweat. He’d caught a glimpse of the stellar marble shower and was looking forward to making use of that in the morning. For now he’d settle for not being sticky. Leaning over, he dropped the towels on the opposite side of the bed, away from their now very wrinkled tuxedos.

                Harry rubbed at his eyes for a moment, catching Merlin’s attention.

                “Are you okay?”

                “You keep asking me that.”

                “At least I’m consistent,” Merlin pointed out. Harry sat up, one hand stroking lightly across the back of Merlin’s neck before pulling him forward. His lips tasted salty; Merlin couldn’t resist running his tongue over them.

                They broke apart, and Harry smiled.

                “More than okay. And now,” he said, pulling down the covers and stretching out, “I’m going to embrace my age and demand to sleep.”

                “What, you mean you don’t want to find another party and stagger in drunk at 4am?”

                “I was never quite that fun,” Harry replied. “Does that mean I’m having a bad influence on Eggsy and Roxy? I’ve never seen them sneaking in drunk either.”

                Merlin stared at Harry. “The ducklings.”

                “Yes?”

                “They stay here with you, don’t they? What if—?”

                He stopped when Harry burst into laughter. “They’re staying at the hotel tonight. It seems we were a little obvious in our affections at the gala. They got the message and made alternative plans.”

                Merlin swatted at Harry, relieved and irritated at the same time.   He slid between the covers, sighing. The sheets were probably a higher count than he knew even existed, and they felt _magnificent_.

                Also magnificent was the well-fucked man snuggling up to him. They shifted a bit, testing out various placements of limbs until they were both satisfied.

                Harry pressed his face into Merlin’s neck. “You’re not a morning person, are you?”

                “You’ll find out.”

                A groan vibrated against his skin. “That means yes.”

                “I also topped, which means I make breakfast. Unless you have a personal chef that makes a four-course breakfast for you.”

                “I told her not to bother showing up tomorrow, since you topped.”

                “Bastard.”

                “Go to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. Took. FOREVER. Honestly, thank you to the kind people who have mentioned this fic on Tumblr. I’ve noticed and honestly I can’t believe it, I’m so freaking flattered. You are literally the reason I forced myself to buckle down and write this chapter, because I felt so damn honored and guilty.  
> That said, smut is so goddamn stressful to write. I don’t ever want to see this chapter again.
> 
> Guess who finally takes Harry to the track next chapter? :D
> 
> Daniel Henney is my headcanon for Tristan and no one will ever convince me otherwise. http://41.media.tumblr.com/5cad04133070bef59dd6c98093bec0d1/tumblr_mwxgy9NLEt1rktqhbo1_1280.jpg Yeahhhh Eggsy you have good taste. ;)


	7. Red Flag Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin finally takes Harry out on the track as promised. Also everything goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Red Flag — This flag stops the race when weather makes it impossible to continue or there is a safety situation such as a bad crash."
> 
> **PLEASE be aware: if you are sensitive to physical violence, you may want to avoid parts of this chapter.**

               Harry surprised them both by waking up first. The room had blackout curtains, which they’d never bothered to pull last night, so dim grey light poured in from the far wall, illuminating just enough of the bed that Harry could make out Merlin asleep beside him.

                He was turned towards Harry, one arm slung across his neck and shoulder, the other curled in the space between them. Harry took a moment to appreciate him this way: relaxed, with that open vulnerability that only sleep provided.

                Then, because he lacked both patience and restraint, he reached out to thumb the tiny bit of stubble forming on Merlin’s jaw. After a moment, Merlin shifted, his eyes opening. He was silent, taking in the room, the light, the body beside him. Harry just smiled. “Good morning, then.”

                “What time is it?”

                Merlin’s accent appeared to deepen with sleep, which thrilled Harry to no end. “Early. The sun’s hardly up.”

                “Then why are you?”

                “I couldn’t say.” He grimaced suddenly. “Christ, have I hit that age where I’m in pajamas by six and up by three?”

                “If you have, we’re sleeping in separate rooms from now on. I’m an early riser, but this is _too_ early.”

                “Go back to sleep then. I’m capable of entertaining myself.”

                “If you mean staring at me while _I_ sleep, no thank you.” Merlin sat up and stretched, elongating his torso. Harry found this enormously pleasing. “I think I remember you having a marble shower.”

                “Do I?” Harry asked, grinning.  
                “Come with me and find out.”

                They’d barely gotten the water running before becoming a mess of hands and mouths, clutching and caressing, lazy and still focused.

                “I’ve never actually had sex in a shower,” Harry murmured, intent on wrecking a small part of Merlin’s neck.

                “I have,” came the sharp response. Merlin’s prick was pressing insistently against Harry’s thigh. “It didn’t end well. No one ever takes into account how slippery showers are.”

                Harry pulled back, satisfied with the bright red weal just above his lover’s collarbone. “Then we’ll just have to get creative.”

                While Harry was more than eager to get his mouth on Merlin’s cock, he wasn’t about to do so on a hard, wet floor. He valued his knees too much.

                Instead he shifted his hips so their cocks met. Harry wrapped his hand around them and stroked languidly. Merlin made a humming noise and slipped his hands down to grab Harry’s ass and pull him closer. This felt more intimate than last night had. There was something to be said for bruised lips and sweaty skin, for near-frantic touches in darkness. However, there was still something enjoyable about jacking off lazily in a shower, Harry thought.           

                Merlin reached down to assist, closing his palm around the opposite side, fingers brushing Harry’s wrist. Water sluiced down his chest and Harry leaned forward to lick at the thin trails.

                They got each other off with quiet moans that were drowned out by the sound of the water running.

                “That makes up for being woken up at an ungodly hour,” Merlin said, combing his fingers through Harry’s wet hair afterwards.

                “And not at all dangerous.”

                “Joke all you want, but slamming your tailbone against a tile floor in the middle of sex really kills the mood.”

                Harry laughed at the image, unable to sympathize. “Soap?”

                They washed themselves off, the earlier allure abandoned for efficiency. Harry tossed Merlin a towel.

                Merlin examined the mark on his neck in the mirror. When he realized Harry was looking, he scowled. “You child.”

                “Insult me all you’d like. You’re the one without clothes.”

                Merlin blinked at him for a moment, then swore. Harry laughed in response.

                “Fortunately for you, I have plenty.” He opened the door to the walk-in closet, illuminating the rows of neat, ironed clothes. Merlin followed him in, little droplets still slipping down his shoulders.

                “Choose whatever you’d like,” Harry said, sliding hangers aside as he made his own choices.

                “Don’t you have any regular clothes?”

                “Shirts, trousers,” Harry pointed out. “Regular clothes.”

                “T-shirts, jeans,” Merlin insisted.

                “Eggsy’s closet is full of them, but you’re a bit taller than him.” Harry briefly imagined Merlin walking around in a pair of Eggsy’s jeans, several inches of ankle and calf showing, and grinned. Judging by the scowl on Merlin’s face, he was thinking the same thing. “Here,” said Harry, plucking a deep blue collared shirt and a pair of grey slacks from the rack. “Try these.”

                “Buttons,” Merlin grumbled as he tugged the shirt off its hanger.

                “You said you were a morning person.”

                “You said you weren’t,” was the gruff reply.

                Harry attempted to dress, more than a little distracted by watching Merlin. The clothes fit well. They were the same height, but Merlin was fitter, causing the fabric to pull ever so slightly in all the right places. The blue made his green eyes even brighter.

                Harry felt like a schoolboy with a crush.

                Merlin had resigned himself to the clothing, tugging at the cuffs until he was satisfied. Harry expected him to pull his collar tight to hide the hickey, but he left the top few buttons undone, whether out of intent or laziness, Harry wasn’t sure.

                “The constant staring is more than a little disconcerting,” Merlin informed him.

                “You’re fucking gorgeous,” Harry responded, though he obediently focused on his own shirt.

                He was rewarded with a short laugh, then Merlin paused. “I smell coffee.”

                “Ah,” Harry said lightly. “I suspect you don’t have to worry about making me breakfast.”

                Merlin shot him a puzzled look, then went to investigate. Harry ran his fingers through his damp hair, too lazy to comb it down. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that Merlin enjoyed seeing it curly.

                “There’s a mass of food out there.”

                “Breakfast delivery,” Harry explained. “Undoubtedly organized by Roxy. What did they bring?”

                “Quiche, pastries, and more fruit than a party of eight could eat.”

                “Pity,” Harry replied, following Merlin out to the kitchen. “I was looking forward to you making me breakfast.”

                “Next time,” Merlin assured him, poking through the baked goods. He selected a blueberry muffin and started tearing it apart.

                Harry sighed and opened the nearest cupboard. “We have plates, you savage.”

                “Oh, excuse me. I forgot I’m eating with a snob.” He took a plate anyway.

                They ate in comfortable silence, barely making a dent in the spread. Merlin looked aghast. “What are you going to do with all of this food though?

                “Some of it we’ll leave for Eggsy and Roxy. They don’t have spare clothes either, so they’ll likely stop by soon. The rest can be shared with my security team, who have no doubt caught up to us.”

                “Good plan. Do you have a to-go container you can use?”

                Harry turned to him, puzzled. “Why?”

                “So we can leave, of course.”    

                Harry peered in several cupboards, finally finding a large plastic container. “Where are we going?”

                “You’ll see.”

                The guards were just outside the door, where Harry had expected them to be. Saito was there, as was a stocky mustachioed man called Felix. They looked a little tired, though they straightened when they saw him.

                “Good morning, gentlemen. Coffee?”

                They accepted the mugs calmly. Saito made a show of sniffing his, giving Harry a small smile. “You aren’t trying to elude us again, are you?”

                “On the contrary, I’ve come to make peace,” Harry insisted, passing a bag over to Felix.

                “It is cash?” Felix joked, peering into it.

                “It’s breakfast.”

                The stocky bodyguard shrugged. “In lieu of cash, muffins work just as well.”

                They headed to the cars, Felix poking through the array the entire time and muttering to Saito, “That one’s mine. And that one.”

                “Should have just given them all the food,” Merlin remarked as they settled into the 12C.

                “Remind me to talk to Percy about issuing apology paychecks,” Harry said into his phone, which beeped in response. “Now, you still aren’t going to tell me where we’re going?”

                “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

                Harry didn’t. To be fair, he wasn’t really trying. He mostly enjoyed the scenery as they drove, and the glimpse of unmarked collarbone through Merlin’s open shirt collar. It was a pity he hadn’t thought to mark them both.

                Merlin bore the scrutiny well. He simply ignored it, eyes focused on the road ahead or fiddling with the dashboard accoutrements. It wasn’t until the track actually came into view that Harry realized what Merlin’s surprise was.

                “The McLaren is at the estate,” Harry said, feeling suddenly anxious as they left the 12C parked and headed up onto the track proper.

                “The McLaren is here. I had Roxy help me organize its delivery.”

                Sure enough, the P1 was waiting for them on the track. It was a sleek vehicle, pitch black and mean-looking, despite its soft, sloping curves. Harry remembered bottoming it out and the look of sheer despair he’d gotten from the McLaren tech who had come to pick it up for repair.

                Merlin surveyed the track. “Perfect. We have it for the entire day, too.”

                Whatever he saw was lost on Harry. To him it looked like a winding expanse of tarmac, neat, and not particularly exciting. Spending an entire day on it seemed less exciting. Still, there was a tightness in his belly when he saw the car, and how Merlin was appraising it. He had a look about him now, an intensity that Harry hadn’t seen before.

                Felix and Saito were uncharacteristically animated, leaning close and trading gestures as they admired the P1. It seemed like everyone understood the allure but Harry. What Harry did understand was Merlin. The former racer glanced up at Harry, his face alight with anticipation, and waved him over.

                The doors rose up instead of out, like the wings of a bird in flight. Harry climbed in with some difficulty; supercars were built low to the ground. Subsequently, getting in and out while trying to maintain some semblance of dignity was not as simple as it appeared.

                Merlin slipped in with no problem, started it up, and immediately began making adjustments.

               “That was anti-climactic.”

               Merlin glanced at him, unsure if Harry was making a joke.

                “It’s shockingly quiet,” Harry clarified.

                “That’s because it’s in electric mode.” Merlin shifted something and then pressed on the accelerator. The P1 came alive with a growl that vibrated deep into Harry’s bones. “Better?” He wasn’t even trying to hide his smugness.

                Harry said nothing, only now beginning to feel tense. Merlin was a racer. This car had upwards of 900 horsepower, and while that didn’t _really_ mean anything to Harry, he knew it meant _fast_. Really fucking fast. He was starting to wonder if Merlin might end up killing them.

                For such an expensive car, it was highly technical. Harry had been overwhelmed by trying to deal with traction control and launch control and all the controls, which, in retrospect, was probably why he’d driven it into a pothole. At least that was his new reasoning. Merlin mumbled under his breath as he studied the screen, making several choices, then leaned back in his seat.

                “All right then. Ready?”

                “Do I have a choice?”

                Merlin grinned. “No.”

                The bone-juddering growl started up again and Harry felt for the seat belt catch, checking to ensure it was secure.

                “Are you—“

                The P1 _leapt_ forward and every word Harry wanted to say died in his throat. His eyes shot to the speedometer, which was climbing at a truly _alarming_ rate, then to Merlin, whose mouth was slightly open. His eyes were wide with the thrill of it.

                Then they hit the first corner and Harry’s hands scrabbled uselessly for a handhold where there was none.

                “Fucking _Christ_ ,” he managed, and Merlin laughed.

                “I’ve got you, remember?”

                Harry did remember. Specifically he remembered last night, unraveling so beautifully with Merlin panting above him. Merlin had him then and had him now. Harry settled down into his seat and focused on the way Merlin’s eyes narrowed as they approached the corners, the quick click of each gear shift, the sheer exhilaration of it all.

                “Doesn’t it frighten you?”

                “That’s the point,” Merlin responded. “Get ready, we’ll really go for it now.”

                _Because we weren’t before?_ Harry had just a second to wonder before the engine snarled, hurtling them towards even sharper corners. But Merlin didn’t even blink. It was like a symphony being played out: a skilled pianist could choose keys based on instinct, the result of years of training and the music akin to a song in his blood. So too was Merlin, reacting to every shift as the wind broke against the chassis, knowing just when to downshift, just when to tug the wheel or when to ease his pull.

                Harry was enthralled.

                It was like having electricity jolting through his bloodstream, an excitement not at all unlike last night’s exertions. He couldn’t even tell when they’d looped around to the start again, not for the first several laps. All of his attention was focused on the feel and the noise and Merlin most of all, completely in command of a machine that seemed like a voracious beast. The track could have been endless and Harry wouldn’t have cared.

                By the time they slowed again, easing down the last stretch, Harry’s entire body was trembling.

                “So?”

                He couldn’t speak for a second. His thoughts were a mess, bees trapped in a jar.

                “Are there rules against having sex in supercars?” he asked finally.

                “There’s not exactly a lot of space in here,” Merlin pointed out, but he was smirking.  
                “Then _on_ the fucking thing, I don’t rightly care at the moment.”

                “Ducklings,” Merlin announced.

                “Duck—of course,” said Harry, catching sight of Eggsy and Roxy standing next to the R8. All of his sarcastic remarks died in his throat when he saw their faces. Sheer panic. Roxy was clearly holding back tears. “ _Christ_.”

                Merlin stopped just in front of them and Harry shoved the door open. “What happened?”

                Roxy attempted to speak but tears just cascaded down her cheeks instead. She had one hand clamped around Eggsy’s wrist like it was all that was holding her in place.

                “It’s Percy,” Eggsy said, alarmingly subdued for once. “He was attacked in the parking garage this morning. They beat him all to hell, Harry. It don’t—don’t look good.”

                Sound briefly receded, leaving only a tinny noise in Harry’s ears. Then urgency slammed into him. He glanced helplessly back at Merlin, whose mouth was pulled into a thin, tight line.

                “Go,” Merlin urged. “I’ll take care of the car and meet you at the hospital.”

                He nodded and climbed into the R8 beside Roxy. Already the morning seemed distant. Beside him, Roxy sucked in quick, sharp breaths, trying to slow her sobs.

                Tentatively he reached out, his fingers brushing her shoulder. She tensed, then suddenly turned into him, pressing her face against his shirt collar. Eggsy glanced back at them in the rear view mirror, his brown eyes narrowed against the shock.

                Harry remembered his parting words to Percy last night: “ _Be careful. I’m not sure what’s going on yet, but I suspect it’s more serious than the times before._ ”

                He was right, not that it had done Percy any good. Who had known? More importantly, _how_ had they known? Was it a coincidence? Harry found that hard to believe. Someone had been rushing to kill him before the hierarchy was changed, but they’d run out of time.

                _Christ_. Why would Percy risk transferring the document alone? Yes, Harry had stressed the need for secrecy, but one could procure an escort without having to tell them _why_. All he had to do was bring James with him.

                Harry stifled a groan. James would be destroyed. Worse yet, James didn’t even know _why_ Percy had been attacked. Harry felt suddenly cowardly. He’d been rubbing Roxy’s back, but now his hand stilled. Would she be angry with him as well?

                “When did it happen?”

                “Like two hours ago?” Eggsy sounded unsure. He weaved between two cars, keeping the speedometer maxed at the legal limit. Harry wanted to tell him to disregard the speed cameras but it didn’t seem practical. Percy wasn’t going anywhere and rushing might put them all in the hospital. “We were already on our way to the track when James called. The garage was pretty empty and they shifted one of the cameras, I guess. It took them awhile to find him.”

                Roxy pulled away, her face wet but composed. Her jaw was tense, eyes alert and focused on the road ahead.

                _Beaten_. Why? Why not just shoot him if what they wanted was the briefcase? It would have been much easier. It _hurt_ to think of Percy lying in the garage, bleeding and wounded. Unless that was the point, Harry realized. To make it hurt.

                Who the fuck had he made so angry?

                There was media outside the hospital, sparse but still they circled like sharks. They went in through the back, Felix and Saito close behind. It wasn’t hard to find the room: it was the one with bodyguards standing outside the door.

                Roxy rushed in, Eggsy at her heels. It was Harry who hesitated. Whatever was in that room was the reality he now faced. He wished Merlin had driven in with them.

                Then the urgency washed over him again and he pushed the door open, needing to see his friend, needing to know Percy was alive.

                Roxy was by the bed, her hands fluttering as they brushed the guardrails, the edges of the blanket. Wanting to touch but unable to. Eggsy had positioned himself in the corner and was looking sick and miserable, his hands shoved down into his pockets and his hat pulled low.

                James was the only one who looked at him. It was a heavy look, angry and exhausted and accusatory all at once. Then he blinked and the expression washed from his features.

                Harry forced himself to look at the bed, to look at Percy. If it wasn’t for the hair, which was finally mussed, Harry might not have recognized him. Percy’s boyish face was a bruise, swollen and dark. The rest of him was hidden under blankets but it couldn’t be any better.

                “He’s stable,” James murmured, squeezing Roxy’s hand. “But they’re going to take him for more tests soon. Internal bleeding…is a possibility.”

                “What happened?” she asked softly, turning her attention to James. Roxy was good like that, Harry realized. She couldn’t do anything for Percy right now, but she could for the other victim. She could ease some of the pain for James, who was still dazed.

                “He left around 8:30 this morning. Said he had an errand to run and he’d be back in an hour. We were going to leave for the weekend, go…somewhere.” He paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, then exhaled. “I called him after the hour was up, I was impatient.”

                At this, Roxy smiled weakly and rocked their hands back and forth a bit.

                “Gazelle called me a few minutes later to say that she was in the garage and that Percy was unconscious. Apparently he’d been there awhile. The blood was starting to dry.”

                _Christ. I’m so sorry._

                “Gazelle found him?”

                Eggsy shifted behind him and Roxy’s eyes darted up to meet Harry’s. James frowned. “Yes. She was frantic. She’s the one who called the ambulance, who…”

                Harry’s mind raced. Gazelle had the most to gain if Harry died and she had every motivation to want that contract destroyed. There was no reason why she couldn’t have been responsible for Percy’s attack. Still, why bother saving him? Not that there was any guarantee Percy was going to survive, but she could have easily left him there.

                She could also want to deflect suspicion. It was too much for Harry to think about right now; he was just chasing his tail at this point. What he needed was evidence.

                “They took his briefcase,” James said, startling Harry from his thoughts.

                “You’re sure?” It was a reflexive question, and a stupid one. If James was saying it, he was sure.

                “He never leaves without it. It wasn’t in his office and it wasn’t in the parking garage. I’m guessing they wanted what he was carrying, though I have no idea what that would be.”

                “I do,” Harry said quietly. All the faces turned towards him, varying levels of hurt and confusion obvious. “I asked him to adjust the chain of command in the event of my death. Control would go to Percy, instead of Gazelle, or the Board. He was going to bring the documents to the lawyer today.”

                For a moment no one spoke; eyes flickered back and forth from one person to another, waiting to see who would react first. Then James clenched his fists.

                “What was he _thinking_?” snarled James, pacing the room. “He _knows_ the fucking rules! All sensitive document transfers require an armed escort—that’s _his_ rule! He fucking wrote it!”

                A nurse stuck her head into the room, eyes roving for the source of the disturbance. “Sir, if you’re going to keep shouting, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

                “You can bloody try!”

                Roxy placed her hands on his arm, holding tightly. “Uncle James, please.”

                For a moment James looked ready to argue, then he slumped down into a chair, completely defeated. “It’s my fault.”

                “I’m sorry, James. I thought he would tell you. I should have kept you informed.”

                James met his gaze and Harry felt the reprimand in it. _You should have done a lot of things, Harry_. He was a good man. A better man than his father and a better man than many. That didn’t change the fact that he’d been foolish for far too long, and this time someone he cared about had paid the price.

                “No one goes anywhere alone,” James insisted, his eyes still on Harry. “Everyone has an escort until whoever did this is fucking arrested or dead.”

                It was very clear which of these the assailants would be if James was the one to find them.

                Harry nodded.

 

+

                Merlin stood outside the door, his back against the wall. A man was yelling, and he thought he recognized the voice of Harry’s head of security. The pain was obvious, and so strong that for a moment, Merlin thought he’d have to leave.

                He hated hospitals, though he wasn’t sure why. When Anton died, Merlin had seen him at the funeral home, not the hospital. There were no sleepless nights listening to a heart monitor beep, nails bitten until they bled, prayers being said like a mantra. Anton was pronounced dead the moment they pulled him from his car.

                For some reason, Merlin’s mind had insisted upon creating a memory of something that had never happened, and so he hated hospitals. The very scent made his muscles tense and tremble. Still, he had no intention of leaving. Harry needed him and that was enough to make him stay.

                _What new mess did you get yourself involved in_?

                Felix and Saito were standing a few feet away, their expressions grim. Occasionally they glanced at him, but Merlin kept his gaze focused on the door. Maybe they suspected him. Maybe they were simply curious. Either way, no one was in the mood to talk.

                The door cracked open and Harry stepped out, his eyes unfocused. It wasn’t until Merlin touched his wrist that he looked up. “Merlin.”

                “What do you need me to do?”

                But Harry just shook his head. “Thank you, but your assistance won’t be necessary. I’ll arrange to have someone escort you home, for your safety.”

                Merlin gripped Harry’s arm, forcing him to look up. “Don’t try that on me. I’m not leaving.”

                “I’m afraid that—“

                “Your ducklings are in a state. _You’re_ in a state. You need someone logical, outside of all this. That’s obviously me.”

                “If someone is hurting people close to me, it would be irresponsible of me to allow you to remain here.”

                Merlin _pulled_ , half-dragging Harry down the corridors. Behind him, the guards were hurrying to keep up. Merlin stopped in an alcove outside of a storage room. Saito approached, but Harry waved him back.

                “Merlin,” he said softly, but Merlin shook his head.

                “Look. The last person I was serious with died in a fucking wreck. He was probably already brain dead from the trauma, but all I know is that he was alone, trapped, and possibly in a lot of pain before he died. By the time I pulled into the paddock, he was gone. There was literally nothing I could have done and I’ve never forgiven myself for being useless.”

                He realized his voice was rising. Sucking in a quick breath, he continued lowly, “I told you last week that if we were going to do this, you weren’t allowed to push me away. You _agreed_. So if you’re going to stand here and talk to me like I’m some consultant you’re asking to kindly step aside for the moment, you can fuck yourself. I’m not going anywhere.”

                Harry’s mouth trembled for a moment; he placed his hand over Merlin’s, which was still clenched around Harry’s arm. “Okay. Thank you.”

                “Now what do you need me to do?”

                Harry thought for a moment. “I need to get back to the estate.”

                “Done.”

                Harry didn’t talk again until they were settled in the 12C, their escort following closely. Traffic was surprisingly light, and they made their way towards the highway with relative ease.

                “If you’re going to stick with me, you need to understand what’s going on,” Harry said, his eyes focused on the cross traffic outside his window. Merlin doubted he was actually seeing anything though.

                “I’m listening.”

                They were approaching an intersection, green lights on their side. The 12C rumbled easily towards it.

                “They’re driving awfully fast,” Harry murmured. Merlin glanced over, catching sight of the dark Range Rover hurtling towards them. Shifting up, Merlin hit the accelerator, clearing the intersection just in time. Their escort was not so fortunate.

                The Range Rover plowed into the car carrying their guards, sending glass and metal streaking across the road.

                “Christ!” Harry shouted. “Stop, stop!”

                Merlin stopped, but grabbed Harry before he could get out. “Don’t be stupid! Just wait.”

                “ _Why?_ That’s Felix and Saito, they could be injured!”

                He had barely finished speaking when Merlin slammed on the gas, sending them both back against their seats.

                “Logan!”

                The back window shattered, cutting off the rest of Harry’s complaints. Whoever was in the Range Rover was still very much alive and very armed. Harry was fumbling with his phone. The wheel jerked to the side as Merlin briefly lost control, the tail end of the car sliding sideways before righting itself.

                Merlin kept a close eye on the rear view mirror, made easier now by the lack of a back window. A thought ran through his head—he’d have to order a custom window made, it would take forever—before he focused on the road. Whoever the shooters were, they didn’t appear to be following them.

                Harry had finally connected with James, and was frantically explaining what had just occurred.

                “I don’t know who they are, but it’s Felix and Saito in that car, James! Send someone out there, fast!”

                Wind buffeted them from the broken window. The highway was going to be nearly unbearable.

                “We’re headed for the estate. Call me the moment you know what’s happened.”

                Harry’s hand dropped into his lap, the phone screen going dark. “Christ. I didn’t think it was going to get this serious. First Percy…”

                “Explain.”

                He did. As Merlin drove, Harry told him everything: his frustration with Richmond Valentine, his suspicions about his CEO, and the posthumous change of command that Percy was supposed to have gotten over to the lawyers today.

                “He told me last night that he was finding discrepancies in the financial reports. I have to find what he did. I have to figure out who’s doing this.”

                “Whoever’s doing this has to know that they aren’t helping the company.”

                Harry stared at him, then let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Fuck the company. I just want to protect my people.”

                “It appears to me that your attacker’s concerns are reversed. Protecting the company might be necessary to protect your people,” Merlin pointed out.

                “Where’s all this coming from?”

                “I’ve watched too many cop films,” Merlin replied dryly. “We can’t go to the estate.”

                “We have to. I need access to my system.”

                “If someone is trying to kill you, don’t you think that’s the next place they’ll look? We’re unarmed and there’s no guard until the gate. Someone waiting a mile up from the gate would have no problem dispatching us.”

                “Then where?” asked Harry, sounding tired.

                Merlin turned off the highway towards his property and Harry inhaled. “No. Whoever is trying to kill me must be aware of my relationship with you.”

                “They’ll still head to the estate first. Besides, I have a smaller house, which is easier to guard. James can send his reinforcements here. Also, I’m the one driving.”

                He could tell that Harry didn’t want to protest, but felt that he should. They were going to waste a lot of time this way, Merlin knew. He couldn’t exactly get mad at Harry though. If their situations were reversed, he’d be having the same difficulty accepting this.

                Harry’s phone rang the moment they were inside the house. Merlin left him in the living room and went to make some tea. The animals circled him, happy to have him back. A neighbor had checked in on them while he was away, but neither he nor his pets were used to him being gone overnight. Their presence eased some of his tension.

                He could hear Harry’s voice, but couldn’t make out what was being said. It was unlikely to be anything good. He clicked the burner off the moment the kettle started to whistle, too impatient to let it boil properly.

                He was angry, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He’d been dragged through disaster once already—many times if you counted the constant media barrage, the broken contracts, the abandoned career. All because he’d loved someone who loved danger.

                Harry didn’t love danger, but that didn’t make him any less reckless. It was a quality that Merlin had recognized immediately and had been wary of, though not enough to stop himself from careening headlong into the man.

                _You can’t help yourself, Logan. Deep down, you care about people and you want to save them._

                Anton’s words echoed in his mind. He was having trouble forgetting today—though accepting was a better word for it. He could never forget. It had been a long time since he’d felt shaken. “You can’t save people. They have to save themselves,” he murmured, the clank of the spoon against the mug louder than his voice.

                _That’s true. That doesn’t mean that they have to do it alone. It doesn’t mean you have to, either._

                Harry came into the kitchen looking pale and exhausted. “Felix is dead. He died in the crash. Saito is in the hospital with multiple gunshot wounds. One of the shooters is dead, the other got away.”

                Merlin handed him a mug. He noticed that Harry’s fingers shook before they curled around the warm ceramic. “Same team that took the shot at you last week?”

                Harry shrugged. “It’s probable. The police found Percy’s briefcase in the backseat of their car, empty. It appears they were the same people who attacked him this morning. Why they didn’t just shoot him…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “This is a nightmare.”

                Merlin reached out and Harry folded into him. How was it only last night that they were learning each other’s bodies? So much of Harry just _made sense_ , just felt like a missing piece locking back into place.

                And here they were, facing an unknown assailant who would gladly render them desolate if they let down their guard. Merlin felt his resolve solidifying once more.

                “James is sending another team out to fetch me. I’ll head back to the estate.”

                “Like Hell.”

                “My oldest friend is lying in a hospital bed, barely alive. I’m not trying to push you away,” Harry insisted. “I need to keep you safe.”

                “Harry. Think. If someone really wants to hurt you, I’m no safer here by myself than I am with you.”

                Harry stuttered a moment, then fell silent.

                “The guards can stay here, but you’re not leaving. You’re staying with me tonight. We’ll go to the estate together tomorrow.”

                For the second time today, Harry relented.

                The new guards arrived, looking somber and intent. They took up posts around the property, making Gwen uneasy. She trailed from room-to-room, cocking her head from side-to-side as silhouettes paced and shifted. The puppy and cat were far less bothered, content to curl up on Harry, who seemed perplexed by this.

                “Why are they doing this?” he asked, as Tarragon snuffled happily in his lap.

                “They like you. It’s not a mystery.”

                “I’m not used to animals liking me.”

                Gwen settled down at Merlin’s feet, still anxious. He reached down to give her a reassuring scratch. “Didn’t you have pets growing up?”

                Something sad crossed Harry’s face before he shook his head. “My home wasn’t…conducive to raising animals.”

                _Or children_ , Merlin thought. He had a vague understanding of what Harry’s father had been like, and he was more than capable of filling in the blanks. “Animals are far better at understanding humans than we are. They think you’re a good person.”

                A smile quirked Harry’s lips for a moment. “Are they trying to reassure me of this?”

                “Aren’t you doubting it?” Merlin returned.

                “Touché,” Harry murmured, turning his attention back to Colin the cat, who was purring against his leg.

                They waited out the day on the sofa, idly watching questionable movies and drinking too much tea. Harry’s phone would blip periodically. At first he winced, but after several hours of messages, he became impassive.

                Harry was rarely quiet. Even when they were apart, he was constantly texting. Now though, he’d become subdued, unfocused. As disconcerting as it was, Merlin wasn’t worried. Harry needed time to think, to process everything.

                After awhile they switched from tea to beer and whiskey, and the silence became less important.

 

___

 

                He couldn’t sleep. Harry had finally drifted off from sheer exhaustion, so Merlin spent a few minutes watching his chest rise and fall. The cat and the puppy had curled up against Harry’s stomach the moment they’d relocated (and to think Harry had complained about having animals in the bed).

                The adrenaline still hadn’t left Merlin’s blood. He wanted—he _needed_ —to know that Harry was safe. At the same time he felt an overwhelming need to escape. Seeing Harry felt like too much; it made his skin prickle and his heartrate uneven.

                Gwen lifted her head as he slipped out of bed; then, seeing that he was leaving the room, slid down to follow him. The garage floor was cold against his bare feet. Merlin considered returning for a pair of slippers, or at least some socks, then thought better of it.

                The McLaren was there, with its broken window. There were also several bullet holes in the chassis, which gave Merlin a considerable amount of frustration. He loved that car. He was also very glad they were alive. But _still_.

                He couldn’t do anything about that now, so he settled at the drafting table. Gwen curled up on the pillow to watch him. For a moment, his mind was blank, his pencil just touching the paper. Then his hand began to move and the rest fell into place. He lost himself in the sketching, not knowing what he was creating, just needing to do _something_.

                The paper was nearly full when he realized he wasn’t alone.

                Merlin looked up to see Harry standing in the doorway. He looked remarkably vulnerable in a pair of Merlin’s pajamas bottoms and a t-shirt, both grey. Merlin belatedly wished he’d given Harry something with more color. Grey just made him look tired and sad.

                Harry smiled briefly, as though he could sense Merlin’s thoughts. “Is this what you do when you can’t sleep? Create?”

                “Something like that.” Merlin looked down at the sweeping lines before him, feeling all the weight of a previous life.

                Harry stepped closer, peering down at the sheet. His brows furrowed. “I’ve seen this art before.”

                “Unless you were in my head, I doubt it.”

                “The style,” Harry corrected. “It’s like…” He peered around the room, his gaze settling on the F1 helmets on their shelves. “The designs that no one could figure out. You were the artist.”

                Merlin rubbed his hand across his face. “One of them. I designed Anton’s helmets and he designed mine. It was a way for us to stay close, even on the track…”

                “An expression of affection,” Harry said softly.

                “Yes. We couldn’t exactly be open. But that was something no one could touch. A helmet is a driver’s most important piece of equipment. It is his and his alone.” Merlin tugged the sheet of paper off the table, then flipped it so only a white expanse stared back at him.

                “Yet you were willing to give one to Roxy.”

                “It was my least favorite one,” Merlin responded lightly, and Harry chuckled. He came up behind the chair, sliding his hands gently across Merlin’s shoulder blades. Merlin felt a twinge as Harry’s fingers brushed the love mark on his neck, then settled, warm and comforting.

                “I’m sorry about Anton.”

                _Me too._ The words leapt into his mind, his reflexive response for decades now. And he was still sorry, but a little less angry, and a little less tangled. Harry was _here_. He was alive, and Merlin was going to keep him that way. “It’s okay,” he responded, and he meant it.

                Turning his head up, Merlin curled his fingers into Harry’s hair and gently pulled him down. At the brush of Harry’s lips, something eased inside his chest.

                _I’m okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a bunch of messed up babies.
> 
> Remember like three chapters ago when I said I’d update on Sundays? Remember how that never happened? Haha, haha, ha… (SORRY EVERYONE)
> 
> Also I went through the comments again just before posting this and the majority of them are excitement about Percilot. It’s no lie that I felt cold dread about this chapter, haha. All I will say is Percilot shippers, do not despair.
> 
> There will be a lot more of the secondary characters in part 2. Harry and Merlin are dears, but Eggsy and Roxy and Percy and James are my precious ones.
> 
> As always THANK YOU for reading and commenting!!


	8. Red Flag Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin jumps to conclusions, Roxy is briefly overcome, and Eggsy stumbles upon the villain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience and encouragement. Hopefully this is worth the wait!

               Merlin woke to the sound of the puppy whining beside him. The room was dark, which meant it was still early. Too early.

                “Right,” he mumbled, forcing his eyes open. “Outside. I’m moving, hold on.”

                The hardwood floor was cold against his bare feet and he sucked in a quick breath. It seemed like he’d only just fallen asleep after spending most of the night talking with Harry. He peered blearily back at the bed to glare at his lover, who was probably sleeping through all of this, but found the bed empty.

                Merlin blinked, suddenly awake. The house was quiet, the only sound coming from the dogs as their claws skittered across the floor. He exhaled, forcing himself to remain calm. Harry could be in the bathroom, or asleep on the couch, or making tea. Merlin wasn’t going to allow himself to jump to conclusions. Harry had made a promise not to sneak out and Merlin trusted him.

                But Harry wasn’t anywhere in the house. Gwen barked, dragging her claws along the edge of the door, which was already criss-crossed with damage. Merlin hurried over, simmering with hurt. Harry had _lied_.

                The dogs dashed outside to romp into the foliage. The sun was barely visible, just a hint in the sky. Merlin waited in the doorway, shivering a bit despite his anger.

                The dogs had stopped barking and now he heard voices whispering in the gloom. He padded out over the cold driveway, blackening his bare feet. He found Harry in conversation with one of the guards. He was still wearing the borrowed pajama pants, his oxfords sticking out comically from under the lengthy fabric.

                Merlin felt immediately foolish.

                The guard mumbled something that sounded affirmative and Harry started over to the doorway. Merlin forced his expression neutral. It did him no good.

                “You thought I’d left, didn’t you?”

                “I didn’t,” Merlin responded, though he didn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes as he said it. “I wasn’t sure where you’d gone. You know this is the second morning where you’ve been up before the sun? I am not a fan.”

                “Liar,” Harry murmured, his smile still clear in the burgeoning light. “I couldn’t sleep. Your bed doubles as a zoo.”

                The dogs had returned, Gwen taking slow, focused steps while the puppy fell over his feet, then scampered inside unhindered. They were probably headed straight back to the bedroom to curl up on the vacated pillows. Merlin wished he could join them.

                “Now who’s the liar?” he returned, following the dogs inside. “You were sleeping just fine before you joined me in the garage.”

                A hand caught him across the chest, impeding his progress. Harry leaned forward, pressing his lips to the exposed skin of Merlin’s neck. “Touché. And I apologize for worrying you. I intended to sneak back inside before you woke up.”

                The last bits of begrudging anger dissipated at this.

                “I take it we’re headed for the estate soon?”

                “Probably best not to wait. I need access to my personal server.”

                “Do we have time for breakfast at least?” He may have been getting cheated out of sleep, but he wanted at least _some_ luxury.

                “If it involves coffee,” Harry said, releasing him.

                “What, you need _more_ energy?”

                “To face today? Absolutely.

                Harry’s voice was light, but it still settled heavily on Merlin. He had no idea what today would entail. With the way their luck was going, they would end up in a ditch or dead. Or both. But he had resolved to help however he could, and sticking close to Harry was a way he could help.

                “Coffee…” Merlin mumbled, searching his pantry. “Can’t we have Builder’s tea and call it fair?”

                “If it’s going to put you out that much.”

                “Ah.” Merlin leaned back, triumphant. In his hand was a very dated container of instant coffee.

                Harry grimaced. “Make the tea.”

                Merlin allowed himself to smirk as he started the kettle. The cupboards made light thumps as Harry opened and shut them in search of mugs. For a quiet half hour there was strong tea, runny eggs, and dark toast coated in the last of the lime marmalade. They could almost pretend it was a lazy Sunday morning. While Merlin did the washing up, Harry changed back into yesterday’s clothes, which were covered in no small amount of pet hair.

                Then there was only the uncertainty stretched before them. Merlin was not going to waver though. After ensuring that the pets were fed and settled, he headed for the garage, Harry close behind. The doors rose slowly, filling the room with bright grey light and the smell of fog.

                Harry made a small dismayed sound. “Your car,” he said, his eyes following the spatter of bullet holes and the shattered back glass. “This is terrible.”

                Merlin stared at him a moment, then laughed. Harry accepted a sudden kiss but smiled afterwards, his brows furrowed. “I’m not complaining, but I’ll admit that I don’t understand what prompted that.”

                “When was the last time you cared at all about a car?”

                “But this is _your_ car,” Harry protested. “It’s clearly your favorite one. I don’t want to see it in this condition.”

                “Exactly.” Taking a set of keys off the wall hooks, he shook them at Harry. “Though until this is over, we’ll be using one of yours.”

                “Which?” asked Harry, puzzled.

                “I’m flattered to be so distracting that you’ve completely forgotten that I’ve had your £90,000 Jaguar since our first encounter,” replied Merlin, strolling to the end of the garage where the car in question was parked. It looked sleek and bright and most importantly, no longer covered in oil. “I decided I wasn’t going to return it until you asked about it.”

                “That means you still haven’t been paid,” Harry pointed out, climbing in. “Or this a benefit of our relationship?”

                The Jaguar came alive with an understated but satisfactory growl; Merlin imagined the car was eager to prove itself in worthy hands. He wasn’t bringing this one back spattered in oil like some wounded solider. At least not if he could help it.

                “Definitely not,” said Merlin, easing out of the garage. “Even if this one gets sacrificed to your assassins, I’m still sending you a bill.”

                Harry chuckled, running his fingers through his hair, which had become fluffy from constant touching. It made affection well up in Merlin’s chest, which he ignored in favor of the road.

                The security team had split between two vehicles. The first edged out in front of the Jag, headed down the long drive towards the highway. Merlin followed suit.

                Harry’s fingers were on the arm rest but his grip was loose. “When things quiet down let’s schedule another track day.”

                Merlin chuckled. The Jaguar rumbled as he picked up speed.

                “I told you,” he said, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice. “It gets into your blood.”

                Harry responded by brushing his fingers across Merlin’s wrist as it hovered over the paddle-shift. Though he said nothing, Merlin knew what that touch meant: _as I got into yours._

+

 

                The sound of rubber soles against the hard hospital floor roused Roxy for what felt like the hundredth time in five hours. She peered up at the nurse who was checking Percy’s stats. There had been several different nurses coming in at all hours of the night since they’d brought him back from surgery and every time she woke up, terrified that they were going to take him away again.

                The nurse noticed her anxiety and gave her an encouraging smile. No bad news. Roxy sighed.

                James was asleep next to her. They’d brought in cots during the surgery, the both of them silently agreeing that neither would leave until Percy woke up. Eggsy had opted to stay at the flat to give them privacy, though he texted her frequently. Each message was a quiet comfort.

                [ _how shocked do u think the maid was 2 find 2 tuxes on the floor?_ ]

                [ _do u need me to bring u bras? theyre not on the list. should i just pack all of them? there’s like 5._ ]

                [ _i broke a vase while juggling apples. i was doing well until that point. it was an ugly vase anyway._ ]

                Eggsy was probably the only person who could make her smile at a time like this. Were it the other way around, with Eggsy in need of comfort, she wouldn’t be half as good at it.

                Right now she was just grateful.

                She’d run the gamut of emotion, from terror to anger to anguish. Now she felt empty, hollowed out by grief. It was almost comical: she was trying to be strong for James and he was attempting the same for her. But if being strong felt like this then how much worse would it be to be weak?

                The nurse changed the drip, then came over. She had several prominent wrinkles around her mouth and eyes that made her look motherly. They didn’t hurt her features, which were still petite and symmetrical despite her age. When she spoke, it was with a soft, quiet voice that eased Roxy’s tender nerves.

                “He’s showing the kind of stats we want to see after a surgery like that. Just keep talking to him. I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”

                She left and Roxy glanced over to the rotation chart where the names were written. That one had been Camille.

                James shifted as she pushed herself up, but didn’t wake. She hoped he’d sleep for awhile. As if Percy wasn’t enough, he’d had to deal with the second attack, plus coordinating a new team and escorts for all of the prominent members. Felix’s death had felt like an overwhelming loss and she hadn’t gone to see Saito yet, unable to bear the thought of seeing another battered body. James had and he hadn’t said anything to her upon returning.

                At this point the only news they could expect was “he’s still breathing” or “I’m sorry.”

                Roxy settled down in the chair they’d placed by the bed.

                “Hi, Uncle Percy.”

                The machines responded with their consistent noises, sounds that she was sure she’d hear in her head for months. She wanted to hold his hand or brush his hair, but she was terrified of hurting him. The nurses had assured her that he was well-sedated and he wouldn’t feel a thing, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. If she touched him, that would mean everything was real. He’d still be in critical condition and she’d still feel small and alone.

                It was how she’d felt when she’d showed up on his doorstep over a year ago, her hands balled into fists, her fingernails digging deep into her palms. She’d expected a confrontation with her parents after coming out, but she’d never expected it to get so ugly.

                Certain things remained in her mind, plastered on like wallpaper. The way her father hissed “ _fix it!”_ at her mother before stalking out of the room, fix _it_ , as though Roxy was no longer even a person but A Situation now; the way her mother’s nostrils flared as Roxy explained that she wouldn’t be going on any more social dates with wealthy male heirs, though she’d be open to meeting their sisters (because a joke couldn’t hurt her case, right? _Wrong._ ); her mother’s final response to her, delivered in the coldest tone she’d ever heard from the woman: “ _I don’t care what you like. You marry a man, you have kids with him, and you never, ever talk about this again.”_

                So she ran. She cleaned out her bank account and was on the train to London before her parents realized she was gone. She chucked her SIM card into a bin at the station. And she headed straight to her godfather’s.

                Percy had handled it the way he handled everything: calmly and precisely. He’d hugged her like she’d been his own daughter, told her simply that he’d been waiting for her to tell him for years now, and that he’d go do up the spare bedroom. James had offered to pick up her things from her parents’ for her, and when they wouldn’t let him in, he climbed through her bedroom window. He’d returned with a smattering of items, mostly useless, and a boutique cake so thickly frosted it made them all sick.

                They became her family immediately, irreplaceably. And with them came Eggsy, and Harry, and even Amelia. Everything good in her life had sprouted from that terrifying moment standing outside Percy’s flat, counting seconds and urging herself to knock.

                Roxy took a deep breath and slipped her hand into Percy’s. She wouldn’t let anyone make her feel small again. And she would destroy whoever was responsible for this.

                There was a light metallic sound echoing through the open door. Roxy glanced up, expecting to see the nurse, then froze.

                Gazelle tilted her head, still paused in the doorway. “May I?”

                Roxy’s heart thumped. She’d given a little thought to Gazelle’s involvement in the situation and the truth was that it made sense. The meetings with Richmond Valentine, the sudden frustration with Harry’s expansion plans, and the glaring fact that the very morning a document was to be signed that would wrench company control out of her hands, the document and its handler were conveniently removed. Gazelle had never been warm, but it still rankled Roxy to believe that a woman she respected was potentially responsible for all this pain.

                _But she saved Percy’s life. She found him._

                Roxy didn’t know what to believe. Harry was convinced Gazelle was at fault and James was still insisting that she had sounded truly distraught over Percy. Roxy glanced at James, who was still asleep, and nodded. She had no reason to say no.

                Gazelle stepped into the room, her prosthetics glancing off the hard floor with a consistent springing sound. She wore a sharp black suit with a tiny silver lapel pin, the shape of which Roxy couldn’t quite make out. As she approached the bed, her hands tightened around the straps of her purse, which she carried in front of her.

                While Gazelle watched Percy, Roxy watched Gazelle.

                “I came yesterday but they said he was in surgery.”

                “They found some internal bleeding,” Roxy replied, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. “But he’s stable now.”

                The dark-haired woman said nothing, her mouth pulled into a tight line. She was looking at Percy but Roxy could swear she wasn’t _seeing_ him.

                This close, Roxy realized that the lapel pin was actually a miniature silver sprig of lavender. She’d never seen it before. It seemed oddly sentimental for a woman who was both efficient and ruthless. It made Roxy uneasy, though she didn’t know why.

                “James said you found him,” she said, mostly to break the silence, partly to see Gazelle react.

                She did react, her expression slackening into something that Roxy took to be conflict. _Or guilt._ It was difficult to tell what she was seeing versus what she was projecting.

                The expression faded, Gazelle’s dark eyes becoming once again unreadable. “Yes. It’s not an image I will soon forget.”

                She knew. She knew they didn’t trust her. So why was she even here?

                A phone chimed; Gazelle glanced down at hers, then darkened the screen. “I have to return. Will you let me know if his condition changes?”

                Roxy couldn’t keep the surprise off her face. She was sure she’d been transparent since the woman had walked in. “I will.”

                Gazelle nodded and turned, her long hair sweeping off her shoulders as she strode away.

                James inhaled sharply and rolled over, his eyes red and still half-shut. “Any change?” he murmured.

                “No. But Gazelle just left.”

                The cot screeched as James shot up, his long legs tangled in the blanket. “ _What?!”_

                “Calm down,” she urged. It wasn’t as though Percy was conscious, but Roxy always felt a tacit obligation to remain quiet in hospitals, as though talking too loudly would alert Death.

                James blinked furiously, trying to focus his eyes. “What did she do?”

                “Not much. She just stood here for a bit and then asked me to let her know if anything changes. She looked upset.”

                James’s hair was splayed in all directions; he dragged his hand through it, biting back a yawn. “What Harry said makes sense. She has motive. And she’s never been the warmest person.”

                “I know,” said Roxy, “but she didn’t look like she was acting.”                                                                    

                “That’s the problem,” he agreed. “She didn’t sound like she was acting yesterday, either. And yet she refused to accept an escort. I don’t know what to think.”

                “You look terrible,” she told him. “Go wash up, get some coffee.”

                He took his phone from the window sill. “I could do with a fresh shirt. And a toothbrush.”

                “Eggsy is bringing over clothes and toiletries from the flat today.”

                James brightened at this. “Do you think he’d be willing to stop by HQ first? There are some things I could use from my office.”

                “I’ll ask.”

                Nearly an hour passed before he returned, though he looked significantly better. “I just spoke to one of Saito’s nurses. They removed all the bullets and his wounds are clean. It will be a long process, but there’s no reason why he won’t recover.”

                Reflexively, she squeezed Percy’s hand, then released it immediately. Her eyes darted from Percy’s bruised face, up to the monitors, then back again. There was no reaction.

                “That’s good news,” she replied, but the moment had passed. When would they get the same confirmation for Percy?

                James pulled a chair up beside Roxy and rested a warm hand on her back.

                “We can wait. However long he feels like making us wait. And he’s stubborn, so it might be awhile.”

                Roxy snorted, the ache in her chest easing a bit.

                “Can I help you?”

                She was about to say no when she realized that James hadn’t been speaking to her. A woman was standing in the doorway with a nervous half-smile and a large bag clutched to her chest. Roxy pushed her chair back, the legs dragging loudly across the floor.

                She didn’t care.

                She’d been missing that nervous smile so desperately.

                Crossing the room with long strides that strained her legs, Roxy gripped Amelia so tightly she thought her arms would break.

                “You’re here! You’re here, you’re here.”

                Amelia’s lips were warm and her hair was soft against Roxy’s cheek.   She smelled like sugar and they both had tears in their eyes, and for a moment Roxy felt invincible.

 

+

               

                Eggsy pulled into the Kingsman parking garage, his body thrumming with nervous energy. He’d wanted to avoid the garage altogether but security had been heightened since the attack on Percy and besides, he wasn’t going to let fear rule him. Not to mention he wasn’t alone.

                James had assigned him a personal guard: a tall, striking woman named Kaha. She had close-shorn hair and luminous dark eyes that were constantly shifting to assess their surroundings. He and Roxy had sparred with her a few times for fun, and they always ended up on the ground.

                Kaha got out of the car first, her long legs putting her well over the top of the car. Eggsy felt decidedly tiny beside her, though it wasn’t a bad feeling. It had the benefit of making him feel quite safe.

               “Did James tell you the news?” he asked her as they headed towards the elevator. “Saito’s out of surgery.”

               The stark relief in her expression suggested this was new information. “Are they allowing visitors?”

               “I don’t see why they wouldn’t. James has been checkin’ up on him.”

                The garage echoed with their footsteps. Eggsy was well aware of the very visible cameras and knew that people inside were diligently monitoring them. Still, he tightened his fists inside his pockets. He half expected to see the concrete still stained with blood, but everything looked as it always did. Whether it would ever feel the same again...

                HQ was running on a ghost crew, even with added security. Sundays were normally quiet, but all the recent violence had frightened off the employees that worked odd schedules. Several had quit.

                Richard was waiting for them in the command room, his eyes on several screens. “Hello, Eggsy. Kaha.”

                “Hey, Rich. Anythin’?”

                The guard shook his head. His hair was almost entirely grey, though he styled it like a much younger man would. He’d come to them from the military after losing his right arm in a surprise attack. He rarely wore a prosthesis and said he got along just fine without one. “Luckily I’m a leftie,” he liked to remind people. Eggsy had heard from Roxy that Rich had the best shooting scores of any guard, herself and James included.

                “It’s been quiet today,” he told them. “Besides us, no one in or out. Oh no, that’s not right. Miss Gazelle was in this morning but she left an hour ago.”

                _What had she wanted?_ Harry’s sudden reveal about the change of command yesterday had thrown them all. It wasn’t easy to think of Gazelle as someone who would actually murder people to gain control of the company. She seemed capable, sure, but Eggsy had always admired her skill and control. She’d accepted him quicker than the rest; part of Eggsy still very much believed her to be innocent.

                Still, he wasn’t naïve.

                “We’re just here to pick some things up for James,” Eggsy said. “We have to get over to the hospital.”

                Rich nodded, his expression appropriately sympathetic. “James said you’d need the key.” He unlocked a cabinet and perused the rows of keys for a moment before selecting a set. These he tossed to Eggsy, then jerked his thumb over to the screens. “Be good.”

                Eggsy caught them in his fist and grinned. “I’m an angel, bruv.”

                “I’d believe it, baby face like that.”

                “Those are the least trustworthy people, in my opinion,” Kaha remarked, smirking.

                “Fight me,” Eggsy joked back. “No, please don’t,” he added quickly, as she slipped into a boxer’s stance.

                Richard laughed. “If you’re gonna get into it, bring me popcorn first.”

                “It would be a short fuckin’ show.”

                Kaha’s eyes drifted to the screens. “What’s going on out front?”

                Richard leaned forward, all business. “Looks like a demonstration of some kind. I’ll have Sylvia and Paul go scare them away.”

                But Kaha was frowning. “I’ll take a look. You wait for me,” she told Eggsy, punctuating her order with a narrowing of her eyes. Then she was stalking out of the room and towards the front, her figure growing smaller on the monitor.

                Eggsy jangled the keys. “I bet I can get back before she does.”

                “I can drop you too, kid,” Rich responded, still watching the screens.

                “You already said the buildin’ is empty, and you have every hall on feeds, yeah? It’ll take a sec. £20 says I’m back before her.”

                This got the guard’s attention. He surveyed Eggsy for a moment, then, with a twist of his mouth, turned away. “Can’t stop you if I don’t know you’ve left.”

                It was a childish thing to do, Eggsy knew as he jogged down the hall to James’s office. He shouldn’t be playing around at a time like this. The truth of it was he was anxious to get to the hospital and check on Roxy. The sooner he grabbed what was needed, the sooner he and Kaha could leave.

                Besides, Rich could see him on the cameras. He wasn’t in any danger here.

                James’s office was surprisingly clean: the folders Roxy had texted about were waiting on the desk. Eggsy scooped them up and locked the door again. This would make up for the time he’d lost waiting for the elevator.

                As he headed back to the elevator lobby, he noticed the little red floor numbers on the panel changing. It was already rising and for a moment, Eggsy thought it was Kaha come to kill him. But it passed him by, continuing until the top floor, where Percy and Harry kept their offices.

                _On a Sunday?_

                Eggsy shifted on his feet a moment. He should go back. Kaha would be pissed and he was pretty sure he’d lost the bet already. Whoever it was would show up on the video feed anyway.

                _But not inside the individual offices_ , Eggsy reminded himself. The video feed was for the hallways, stairwells, and elevator lobbies. Not to mention that the men yesterday had managed to adjust the garage cameras so no one had even seen the attack. Was that demonstration outside even real, or was it a distraction?

                Why had Gazelle even been in the parking garage? Her driver always picked her up in front of the building. It didn’t fit and he didn’t like it. The people who had attacked Percy had wanted the files in his briefcase, and now someone was on the same level as his office.

                He was in the stairwell before he’d even consciously decided. The elevator would sound each floor, alerting people to his presence; however, he could use the stairwell door to check the top floor and sneak away again.

He was taking a huge risk and he knew it. The smart thing to do would be to get Kaha, or Rich. But what if whoever it was was gone by then? He would be careful and quick. Just a peek to identify the person and then he was headed straight for security.

                The files felt damp in his hands; he shifted them to wipe his palms against his jeans as he climbed. There was a good chance he was chasing the janitor and would look like an absolute idiot. _What if it’s Gazelle though_?

                By the time he’d made it to the 14th floor his chest was tight and his skin was tingling. Eggsy eased the stairwell door open, silently thanking the diligent building staff: it didn’t even creak.

                There was no one outside the elevator. Minus his own heavy breathing, the floor was quiet. Eggsy eased the door shut again with barely a click as the lock slid back into the bracket. He was starting to feel a little foolish. Watch he really had chased the janitor up seven flights of stairs, he thought as he approached the corner leading to the main hallway.

                A door opened and quick, angry whispers traveled down to him.

                “I thought you said he kept paper records.”

                “He normally does.”

                Eggsy stopped just shy of the corner, frozen in fear. It _was_ Gazelle. And she’d been in Percy’s office.

                “ _Normally_ ,” was the sarcastic response. Eggsy recognized the oily tone of one of the senior board members, Chester King. He’d taken an instant dislike to Eggsy, and had been consistently dismissive of him since he’d started. Gazelle had defended him against King on multiple occasions.

                He wasn’t sure what offended him more: that Gazelle was definitely dirty or that she was working with Chester King.

                “If you hadn’t attacked him, I could have done more. I could have found out what he knew.”

                “Before or after he and Hart managed to undermine my efforts?”

                “Nearly killing him was unnecessary,” Gazelle responded, her voice icy.

                “We need him to die,” King insisted. “He won’t be bought.”

                “He might be.”

                King scoffed. “No. He helped rebuild this company from nothing, he’s loyal to Hart. You get someone in that hospital to finish the job.”

                Eggsy was trembling while trying to keep still. He needed to warn Roxy. He needed to warn Harry. He couldn’t do either of those things if he was caught now. They would have to pass him on their way back to the elevator and if he didn’t run for it before then, he was fucked.

                _Cameras_ , he reminded himself. He searched the walls, finding the small black device tucked up in the corner of the elevator lobby. He waved at it, hoping Rich or Kaha would see him and understand. _Send backup, damnit_.

                Gazelle was silent for a moment before making a final protest. “Surely we could wait to see if he even pulls through? It will be difficult to get close to him at this stage.”

                “So buy off someone in security.”

                “No. They are all loyal to Spencer, and he is very keen.”

                King made a disgusted sound that echoed in the hallway. “When I started this, I assumed you’d be better equipped to handle things.”

                The sound of metal against metal made Eggsy’s hairs rise. The files were creased and damp in his hands.

                “I _am_ handling things. You’re the one who keeps acting without warning me. Valentine and I were making headway long before you started trying to murder people.”

                “I would think you wouldn’t have a problem with that,” King replied, his voice greasy.

                _What did that even mean?_

                “Don’t change the subject!” Gazelle snapped. “If you keep moving pieces behind my back, I can’t guarantee anything.”

                “Have you forgotten that I know who you are?”

                “I haven’t forgotten,” was her curt reply. “Have _you_?”

                Whatever she meant, she’d made King very uncomfortable. When he spoke again, there was a tremor in his voice. “We shouldn’t loiter here.”

                _Fuck._ Eggsy started back towards the stairwell.

                Gazelle’s voice carried down to him. “Relax. Valentine taught me how to replace the camera feed. They don’t even know we’re in the building.”

                Fear settled deeper into Eggsy’s stomach. No one even knew he was here. The decorative mirror on the opposite wall reflected his terrified face back at him. _Should have waited for Kaha, idiot idiot idiot_.

                A door opened and Eggsy heard King say “Then we have time to check again. He must have left something and I’m not losing everything over paperwork.”

                That was enough. Easing the stairwell door open, Eggsy slipped through and then bolted, not waiting to shut the door softly behind him. Either they’d closed the door to Percy’s office and wouldn’t hear it, or they would but they wouldn’t be able to catch him. Jamming the folders into the waistband of his jeans, Eggsy used the railing to launch himself down entire sets of stairs. His feet barely hit each landing before he was onto the next, his momentum carrying him. He’d made it down five flights when a black-clad body appeared on the next landing.

                He shouted, hitting the landing at an angle and slamming back into the wall. Tristan jumped back as well, having narrowly missed colliding with Eggsy. He stared back, his mouth open. “What—no, just— _WHY?_ ”

                Eggsy took a moment to catch his breath. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest; he’d been convinced he was about to die. “Long story. Why are you _here_? It’s Sunday.”

                “I know,” Tristan insisted, his expression transforming from shock to irritation. “I’m trying to find Gazelle. One of the board members just issued a fluff statement and then tried to fire me.”

                _Thank God_ , Eggsy thought. Tristan had no idea what was going on.

                “Let me guess: Chester King?”

                “Yes. How’d you know that?”

                Eggsy started to explain, then realized that there were more important things that needed to happen first. Like finding Kaha. Like warning Roxy and James that Percy was in danger. Like warning Harry that things were even more complicated than he’d thought. Also getting the _fuck_ out of the building.

                Right now, Eggsy was the character in the film who had all the information and was thus most likely to be murdered before he could pass it on. Fuck if he was going to let someone kill him.         

                “Trust me right now,” he said, preventing Tristan from passing him. “You do _not_ want to talk to Gazelle.”

                Tristan frowned, his brows pulled tight. “Why are you trying to Jedi mind trick me exactly?”

                “I’m tryin’ to save your life, bruv, and mainly mine. The shootings, Percy— _they’re_ behind it, okay? King and Gazelle. We have to get far away from here and _now_.”

                Tristan stared at him for a second, then suddenly turned back down the stairs, taking them in twos and threes. “You could have started with that!”

                “I didn’t know whose side you were on,” Eggsy protested as he followed.

                “So you’re saying getting fired probably saved my life?”

                “It’s not fuckin’ saved yet!”

                This shut Tristan up, the only sound coming from his dress shoes slapping loudly against the concrete. They’d made it down four flights before he spoke again, his voice coming in sharp gasps. “One thing. When we’re not…facing imminent death…you’re going to teach me parkour. Because this is bullshit.”

                And so, out of breath, running for his life, with the corners of several manila folders cutting in the skin of his back, Eggsy laughed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who has patiently waited, THANK YOU to everyone who has commented before, and THANK YOU to those of you who recently commented and professed that you would wait for me to return from war. ;) I’m not going to lie, I was so very stuck and ready to give up but your words rallied me to keep slogging through!
> 
> Updates will still be slow because Life, but I am determined to finish!


	9. Drive Through Penalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James makes a decision. Harry makes a pun. Eggsy asks for answers (and maybe asks too many questions). Roxy refuses to give up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drive Through Penalty: "Drivers must enter the pit lane, drive through it complying with the speed limit, and re-join the race without stopping. In practical terms, a drive-through penalty almost, but not always, guarantees loss of position, as the field continues at race speed."

              The room was quiet again, minus the sound of the heart monitor.  James followed each measure, the rise and fall of the line, trying to determine if his own heartbeat matched.

             It didn’t. 

           His was too fast, still excited by the sudden appearance and introduction of Amelia.  It was a perfect moment, watching Roxy crash into her, full of warmth and disbelief and sheer joy, the kind that can only be experienced when facing desperation.

            In his head, James was always crashing into Percy. 

            It was strange sitting here while he slept.  Normally, they slept side-by-side, Percy immune to James’s attempts to snuggle against him until winter came and there were always cold feet intertwined with his own.  Sometimes Percy didn’t sleep at all because he was part-android and part-coffee most days, unable to let problems go until they were solved.  James had long stopped trying to keep up.  In the early days of their relationship he’d guzzled coffee so strong it tasted like burnt gasoline just to stay away.  He hadn’t wanted to miss anything.

             But when Percy fixated on a problem everything around him became unimportant.  If James was awake or asleep it didn’t really matter, so James chose sleep.  Nevertheless, he did think it was important that he was _there_ , which is why when Percy brought work home and spread it out on the coffee table, James curled up under the sofa throw.

              And Percy would still be there when he woke, usually showered and ready to go; occasionally red-eyed and swearing at the coffee machine, but always there.  Even if it made Percy late—and he hated being late—he would wait for James.

             There were some nights, nights so rare that James remembered them almost as whiffs of smoke dissipating around him, when Percy would jar him awake trying to sneak under the throw.  The first time it happened James woke in a daze to find his partner burrowing against him like a cat.  A tired, irritable cat.  Instinctively he shifted to make room and Percy dropped down on the sofa with a sigh.

             Soft hair pressed under James’s chin; everywhere else, the warm solid weight of another person.  He waited a moment before murmuring “This is nice.”

             Percy set his glasses on the coffee table, not bothering to fold them: a testament to his exhaustion.  “Yes, yes.  Be quiet, I’m tired.”

             “It’s a nice moment.  I just wanted to acknowledge that.”

              Percy huffed sleepily.  “I know.  You also love it when we wash dishes, or shower, or breathe.  We have a lot of what you call ‘nice moments.’”

               “All true.  But I really love this moment.”

               What he meant was “I love you.”  It’s what he always meant.  And he knew without it being said that Percy loved him back.  Why else would he be pressed against James, warm and whole and asleep?

                Percy was asleep now, warm, but he wasn’t whole.  If James had insisted on accompanying him, if he’d ignored Percy’s plans, if if _if._   The worst word he could think of. _If_ prevented him from rearranging time, from regaining control over an uncontrollable situation.  _If_ prevented him from fixing things.

                Even now he felt useless, making phone calls and _waiting_ , so much goddamn waiting.  Someone was responsible for the guards who were dead, for Percy being broken, for the stabbing pressure inside James’s chest that made just breathing painful.

                But Percy was still breathing.  He was alive and there was no reason why he wouldn’t remain so.  Staying alive was Percy’s way of saying “I love you” back.

                James wanted more.  He wanted the people responsible for this mess at his mercy so he could be sure that they were sorry, so very sorry.  He wanted the assurance that this would never happen again.

                He could hear Roxy now: “You aren’t Batman.”

                James laughed but the sound quickly morphed into a low sob.  He was tired.  He didn’t know how much more of this nightmare he could take.  He’d always drawn strength from Percy.  Even in emergencies, Percy kept a cool head; that’s what James had been trying to do.  Stay calm, get the job done, look after the team.

                But a tiny part of him wanted to say “fuck it.”  That part of him was desperately in love with Percy and didn’t give a damn about the Kingsman Group, or politics, or this entire mess.  All it wanted was Percy awake and well and the people who hurt him six feet underground.

                It wanted the promise of a future for them, an end to the uncertainty.

                He’d have to trust Percy to fight with every cell in his body.  In the meantime, he would do the same.

                James exhaled, then heard the scattered sound of footsteps drawing closer.

                Eggsy burst into the room, followed by what seemed like half the Kingsman Group in tow.  Eggsy and Tristan, both looking like they’d come off a marathon; Kaha, her 6’2’’ frame bristling with rage; and Roxy with Amelia, both looking anxious and confused.

                _Oh God_ , he thought.  “What happened?”

                The words tumbled out of Eggsy’s mouth, full of urgency and barely-concealed panic.  Some of them blurred together, but he understood enough.  Enough to turn him back into steel.

 

+

 

                Harry ended the call, then closed his eyes.  He wasn’t surprised—he couldn’t be.  Tired was a better word. 

                Chester King.  It was a name he’d hated for years until it became a name he chose to ignore.  Now he couldn’t.  Chester King was a relic of the past, a remainder of his father’s era.  He’d left with the rest of the board, then sauntered back in a year later, full of praise for Harry’s leadership and vision.  And Harry, too prideful to see the compliments for the calculated flattery that they were, had welcomed him back.

                To be fair, King was already old even then, his hair more white than brown, his wrinkled hands betraying a gentle tremble.  Harry had thought the old bastard had changed enough to accept his new role, but he’d only been waiting, planning.  Like an alligator, submerged well enough that he could be missed, patient enough to make his strikes count.

                He was clever.  Fine.  So was Harry.

                “Are you going to tell me or are you going to make me ask?”

                Harry opened his eyes.  Merlin was glaring at the road, probably waiting for trouble to find them.  He wasn’t even pretending to be calm, his arm muscles tense and knuckles bleached white around the steering wheel.

                He told Merlin about Eggsy’s encounter, about the confirmation they now had.  The speedometer jerked up as Harry talked; Merlin exhaled and the car slowed.

                “The lad is lucky he’s not unconscious in a trunk somewhere.  Or dead.”

                Now _that_ was a frightening thought.  It was naïve to think that King would focus his efforts solely on Harry; the attack on Percy had been proof enough of that.  If the old man was getting desperate there was likely no limit to the violence he was prepared to instigate.

                “Please tell me Spencer called the police.”

                “He has.”            

                Merlin’s eyes flickered over, the back to the road.  “Why do you sound so unhappy about it?”

                “Not unhappy.  Concerned.  The police will question him but I don’t feel comfortable about Eggsy’s statement being their only evidence.  Without something more concrete, things will just get messier.”

                Merlin hummed in agreement.  “It sounds as though you speak from experience.”

                He certainly did.  Through his father’s tenure as the president of the Kingsman Group there had been hundreds of allegations.  Fraud, blackmail, every dirty business trick in the book.  It seemed like there was a new court case every week citing Henry Hart’s criminal behavior.  And no matter how many eyewitness testimonies could be produced, it was all for naught. 

                There was never any physical evidence.  Harry had learned that lesson early: no body, no crime.

                This time, though, there were bodies, and Harry would find some way to prove the crime.  He owed it to everyone who had put their trust in him.

                There was traffic along the highway, chafing at their already sensitive nerves.  Once or twice Harry thought to reach out, to remind Merlin that they were alive and okay, but he knew it would feel forced.

                By the time they reached the estate Harry couldn’t care less if there was an army waiting with guns drawn.  He just wanted to be out of the car and _doing something_.  The estate was quiet.  No one holed up ready to open fire, no grenades flung at their feet.

                It was all as he’d left it, though it seemed smaller after everything he’d experienced in the last several days.  No Roxy, no Eggsy, no scent of baked goods wafting through the extensive halls.  He felt suddenly lonely, even with Merlin beside him.  The ducklings were his family and he hated himself for getting them tangled in all of this.

                _No time for self-pity, Hart.  Get going._

                He headed straight for his office, his mind running through the accounts he’d check first.  There were stacks of papers on the side of his desk: mail, portfolios, miscellaneous nonsense that he ignored on a good day.

                “Wake up the printer?” he asked Merlin, settling down before his screen.

                There was the requisite beeping as the machine woke and tested itself.  The computer booted up with ease.  It was like a standard day working from home.  And nothing like it at the same time.

                “So this will get you into the files you need?”

                “Yes.  It’s separate from the Kingsman network, though all our files back up onto it,” Harry explained.  “Percy and I had it set up back when we started digitizing everything.  It’s only accessible from two places.”

                “One being here, the other being…?”

                Harry grinned, hoping it made him seem daring.  “A secret.”

                Merlin didn’t even deign to roll his eyes.

                “Did I mention I fence?”

                “ _Hart._ ”

                Fair enough.  “It’s meant to be untraceable,” Harry said, turning back to the screen.  “A failsafe in the event that the main network is hacked.”  He typed in three passwords in quick succession.  “And now I can see what accounts King had his fingers in.”

                “That’s it?”

                “You were expecting a grander gesture?  Perhaps a secret laboratory hidden behind my bookshelf?”

                Merlin pulled several books in response then pushed them back into place, watching Harry all the time with a flat expression.

                “What would you have done if the wall had actually opened?”

                “Continued to judge you,” Merlin responded.  His eyes widened.  “Harry.”

                Harry followed his gaze back to the screen, which instead of showing rows of accounts in blue and white, showed only a black screen with the words **I told you I’d be in touch.**

                _No._

                No matter what keys he pressed the screen didn’t respond.  “This was not supposed to happen,” he whispered, feeling exhausted into his bones.

                “Who?”

                “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say Valentine.  He likely figured it was easier to take what he wanted than wait for me to come around.”

                “Or die,” Merlin muttered.

                Right.  He’d been lucky enough to avoid the hitmen but not smart enough to avoid this trap.  If Valentine was in the failsafe then he’d already cracked the network.  It was the end of the Kingsman Group and the end of the Hart legacy.  _His_ legacy.

                All this effort and they had nothing.  King wasn’t stupid enough to incriminate himself and he could see Gazelle disappearing before the cops could even breathe at her.  How could he have been such an idiot?  Laziness.  That’s what it came down to.

                He’d spent so much time acting blasé, letting everyone else take control and calling it trust.  He _trusted_ them to do a good job—his job.  That kind of willful ignorance, wasn’t that just as bad as what his father had done?

                Merlin’s voice was soft.  “Harry.  Talk to me.”

                Harry shook his head.  “You should go, Logan.  This isn’t going to end well.”

                “This didn’t begin well!”

                He wasn’t wrong.

                Merlin was pacing now, his hands clenching and relaxing every few steps.  “What if we got the second access point for the server?  Could you do something from there?”

                “Possibly, assuming Valentine hasn’t already located it, but it’s irrelevant now.  It’s in Switzerland.  Valentine will have cleaned out the company before we even make it there.”

                He didn’t even have to look up to know Merlin’s expression.  The pacing had stopped.  “You put your second access point in fucking _Switzerland_ and you want to mock me for thinking you have a hidden room somewhere?”

                A joke rose to his lips—or it should have.  He was shell-shocked.  His fingers moved automatically, pressing everything, trying to escape, reboot—he wasn’t a computer whiz, he wasn’t a hacker.  He wasn’t Valentine.  He was an aging man who occasionally wore cardigans and misplaced his glasses and couldn’t keep a car undamaged to save his life.

                Five minutes ago he’d been one of the richest men in England—in the whole fucking world.  By the end of the day he’d have nothing but disaster.

                “You have to have an IT crew, Harry.  Call them.  Get them working on this.”

                “I…don’t even know who to call.  Percy hired them.”  Percy had hired almost everyone in that building.  If they could switch right now, if Harry could be in that hospital bed with Percy awake and in charge…

                “ _Someone_ knows.  Call anyone you can think of,” Merlin growled at him.

                Harry met his gaze and was surprised that there was no fear in it.  Urgency, yes, and plenty of anger, but not an ounce of fear.  “James had the building cleaned out after this morning.  No one’s there and I’m not going to risk anyone’s lives by sending the back.”

                “There has to be something, Harry!”

                “There isn’t,” he whispered.

                He was thirty-one and his father was dead and he was holding the will in his hand, realizing that Kingsman was his.  And he was terrified, ready to cut his losses and run.  He hadn’t.  He’d gotten angry, then he’d gotten determined, then he’d taken control.

                Why hadn’t he run?

                Merlin was still standing by the desk but Harry didn’t want to look at him.  Didn’t want him to see how defeated he was.

                “Do something useful,” Merlin ground out, his voice forced even but not quite managing.  “Call someone, read your mail—Christ, don’t be a fucking martyr.”  A sheaf of paper slewed across his desk from where Merlin had shoved it.  “Everyone is fighting here: for you, for themselves, for Kingsman.  You don’t get to lay down and play dead.”

                “Merlin—“

                “ _Think_ , Harry.  I’ll be in the kitchen.”

                It took Harry a few moments to move.  He hadn’t been in that many relationships in his lifetime, but he knew when the edges surrounding one started to crack.  How funny was it that what was getting to Merlin wasn’t even the fact that Harry was about to lose everything, but that Harry was unwilling to _do_ anything about it?

                That wasn’t true, at any rate.  He would gladly do something if he could only think of something to do.  But they’d cornered him: Gazelle, King, Valentine.  And he’d practically let them.

                He started cleaning up the mail Merlin had scattered.  There was an awful lot of it.  How much mail did Eggsy sort through for him on a daily basis?  Magazines, business cards, letters that probably should be submitted to the police, judging by the angry scrawl.  All about to disappear.  An incomplete legacy about to be molded for him.

                He pushed it all aside, then paused.  There was a thick orange envelope bearing Percy’s stamp.  Harry fumbled for a letter opener, then began to tear at it with his fingers.  There were stacks of paper, neatly binder-clipped as was Percy’s way.  Harry sent the clips flying across the room as he pulled at the pages.  Accounts, they were clearly accounts, they had to be _something_ —

                Financial reports.  How was it, Harry wondered, that even when he was unconscious in a hospital bed Percy still found a way to force Harry into looking at the goddamn financial reports?  They went on for _pages_ , row after row of figures.  He sighed and leaned back to toss them in the wastebasket.  After all, his company was ruined.  Financials weren’t going to help him now.

                Then he saw the dots.  Tiny red dots made with a fine point pen.  They were on the pages for Thailand, for Peru, for Turkey.  All the positive ventures that Kingsman Group had made in the last seven years. 

                Scattering pages across his desk, Harry leaned over them, his brain trying to process something it already knew.

                “Christ, Percival,” he whispered.

                “That’s a look,” Merlin said from the doorway.  Holding up two cups, he dodged binder clips and made his way to the desk.  “When I said check your mail I didn’t mean fling it everywhere.”

                “Says the man who shoved it across my desk before storming out,” Harry responded, his voice breaking into a quick, breathless laugh.  “Merlin, it’s here.”

                “What’s that?”

                “Proof that Chester King has been skimming money from no fewer than ten Kingsman projects.  This is more than enough to arrest him for fraud.”  And Percy had sent it to him standard mail, like you’d send a birthday card.  Happy Birthday to me, Harry thought.  Emptying the contents of the closest portfolio on the floor, Harry began gathering up all those precious pages once more.

                He caught sight of the screen and its mocking message.  There was nothing he could do about that right now.  What he needed was to get this evidence to police.  Once King realized he was cornered, he’d give them Valentine in a second.

                Merlin jangled a set of keys.  “Where am I driving, Hart?”

                The portfolio gripped in his fingers, Harry felt his blood hum with excitement.  “London.  We’re going to de-throne King.”

 

+

                Eggsy was exhausted.  The day was barely half out and yet he felt run ragged.  The police station had broken down the last of his energy.  He and Tristan had both been run through the same tired questions.  Was he sure he’d seen Gazelle and King?  Had he just heard their voices?  Did he think he could be confused?  Did he have any proof?

                The more he explained what happened the more it sounded like a spy movie gone wrong.  He’d snuck up a stairwell to investigate an elevator and stumbled upon a conspiracy.  Then he’d flung himself down said stairwell to avoid being murdered.  He had the answers and no way to prove them.

                _Fan-fucking-tastic._

                Tristan huffed as the elevator doors shut.  “’Not always like this’ you said.”

                “What?”

                “The night we met at the Gala.  You said working for Kingsman was not always like this.”

                “It’s not like I fuckin’ lied!  It might surprise you, bein’ American and all, but I don’t normally spend my days runnin’ for my fuckin’ life and— _what_?”

                A wide grin had appeared on Tristan’s handsome face and his shoulders trembled with laughter.  “Are you always so easy to anger?”

                Feeling all too much like a rooster with ruffled feathers, Eggsy settled into the corner of the elevator, glowering.  “Maybe.”

                “Apologies.  I was trying to lighten the mood.”

                The mood was abysmal.  Kaha had returned to HQ to ensure everyone was cleared out.  Eggsy and Tristan had been sent back to the penthouse with express orders to not leave.  Normally Eggsy wouldn’t have minded being stuck with Tristan.  But now…

                Well.  He still didn’t mind.

                The door chirped when he swiped his card.  “Ready to be impressed and disgusted at the same time?” he asked.

                “Lay it on me,” Tristan replied.

                It was one of Eggsy’s simple pleasures, observing the reaction of people who had never seen Harry’s penthouse before.  The mix of awe and the realization that it was all _too much_ , almost horrific in its opulence. 

                Tristan marched into the living room, hands in his pockets, and surveyed it all.  “Fancy,” he remarked.

                Eggsy wasn’t going to get anything he wanted today, was he?

                He gave Tristan a quick rundown, pointing out bedrooms and bathrooms, trusting him to find his way around.  Eggsy’s mind was on something else.  Heading for Harry’s room, he pulled open the bedside table, eyes fixed on what they knew would be there.

                The small black box slid out easily, its contents setting his heart pounding.

                “What’s that?”

                Eggsy held the 9mm in his palm, forcing his voice light.  “You’re American, bruv.  I thought you’d all seen a gun before.”

                Several variations on frustration crossed Tristan’s face before he settled on a scowl.  It was good to know he had a _lousy_ poker face.  “I know what it is.  I want to know why you have it.”

                Why _did_ he have it?  Maybe because he was scared out of his mind and this was the only way he could think to even the playing field.  He was clever, sure, but he wasn’t Valentine-clever.  He wasn’t Gazelle-clever either.  He’d always left the weaponry to Roxy, figuring he was better with just his fists, but these were the kind of people that brought sniper rifles to bar fights.

                He didn’t like the way the gun felt in his hand.  Heavy and light all at the same time.  But he needed something between him and danger.

                Tristan sighed.  “Is it even loaded?”

                He wanted to make a quick retort, but this wasn’t the kind of thing he wanted to get caught lying about.  “I…dunno.”

                Tristan held his hand out.  Eggsy set the gun into it, relieved to be rid of it.  A second passed, then Tristan began taking it apart.

                “What--!”

                “If you’re going to carry it, I need to be sure it’s loaded and clean.  A dirty gun is more dangerous to you than the person you’re aiming it at.”  He peered at the components for a moment, then nodded to himself.  When he realized Eggsy was staring at him, the scowl returned.

                “Spare me another American joke, would you?  My dad was a soldier.”  As quickly as he’d disassembled the gun, he reassembled it, all the pieces snapping together.  “He figured if he was going to keep guns in the house, we should know how to use them.”

                “We?” Eggsy asked, mostly to distract himself from how purposeful and _fucking hot_ Tristan was at the moment.

                The older man gave him a blinding smile.  “Myself and my three older sisters.”

                _Thank you, Percy, for hiring this man.  Also_ fuck you _for hiring this man._

                “You’re full of mysteries, aren’t you?”  

                “I imagine you have a few of your own,” Tristan replied, handing him back the gun.  It felt warm now and Eggsy wanted to say something smooth.  Something about those strong fingers and everything he suspected they were capable of.

               The chirp of the front door registering a key card silenced his brain.  Sharp, metallic tangs echoed for a brief moment, then everything was silent once more.  Eggsy’s grip tightened automatically around the pistol.  Gazelle.

                Tristan’s smile had disappeared, replaced with a mix of disbelief and frustration.  He drew his phone out of his pocket.

                “Don’t make me wait, Eggsy.  I don’t have time for that today.”  Yes.  Definitely Gazelle, straightforward and efficient like always.

                “Police,” Eggsy mouthed to Tristan, and started for the living room.  A flash of fear darted across the other’s man face; for a moment he looked ready to reach out.  Then Eggsy was stalking down the hallway, heart thumping, ready for a fight.

                Gazelle stood in the foyer, her hands clasped around the large leather folio she always carried.  If he hadn’t seen her in HQ only hours before he would have assumed he was late for one of their meetings. 

                “Hello, Eggsy.”  Her dark eyes flickered down to the gun and she smiled.  “You won’t need that.”

                “How about I decide that on my own, yeah?”

                She shrugged, her eyes drifting to where Tristan’s shoulder bag lay on the sofa.  Eggsy gripped the gun tighter and pulled it even with her chest.  The smile remained fixed on her lips as she turned her attention back to him.

                “I apologize for this morning.  I think you still believed in me until you saw me in the hallway with King.  Foolish, but touching.”

                “How did you know it was me?”

                “The same way I know Mr. Seong is desperately trying to reach the police.”  Eggsy followed her gaze, only for a second, but he saw what she had seen: Tristan reflected in the mirrored hallway.  The memory of the lobby mirror reflecting his own terrified face back at him that morning flashed through his mind.

                “You’ll never get through,” she announced to the hallway.  “I’ve taken the liberty of jamming the signals in here.  Parting gift from Valentine.”  She held up a small black rectangle, then slipped it back into her blazer pocket. 

                Tristan emerged from the hallway, his phone clenched in his fist. 

                “Don’t worry,” she continued, as though the fact that she was outnumbered and unarmed didn’t matter—and it probably didn’t—“I won’t take up much of your time.  Seeing as you know about King, I thought I’d offer to help clean things up.”

                “I know about you, too,” Eggsy said, unable to stop himself.  Seeing Gazelle made him angrier than it did scared.

                 They could have been talking over dinner and wine.  Gazelle laughed, only a puff of air really.  “And what do you know about me, Eggsy Unwin?”

                “I know you’re pretending to be helpful but you started this.  You’re the reason Percy and Saito are in the hospital and Felix is dead.”

                A crease appeared in her smile, almost a grimace.  It passed as easily as it had appeared.  “It was not supposed to happen as it did, but that’s the trouble when more people become involved.  Someone got impatient and someone got greedy and now here we are.”

                “Let me guess: if things had gone your way, no one would have had to get hurt.”

                A sharp, sudden laugh escaped her.  “None of us are that stupid.  Someone always gets hurt.  I’m going to open this case now, Eggsy.  Try not to shoot me.”  She unsnapped the folio, then paused.  “Mr. Seong, I feel it only polite to warn you to not do what you’re thinking about doing.  If you try to tackle me, I _will_ slice your throat open, and that would really be a shame.”

                Eggsy forced himself not to look back at Tristan but he could hear the quick inhale behind him.  _Let me handle this_ , Eggsy thought.  _She’ll talk to me._

                Gazelle drew out a folder and placed it on the decorative side table beside her.

                “Does King know?”

                “No,” she replied, snapping the folio shut again.  “And I see no need to enlighten him.  King barely knows you exist.  He has a very narrow view of the world and that’s his weakness.”

               “Are you tryin’ to convince me to trust you?”

                She surprised him by laughing.  “No.  Don’t do that.  Just get that to the police.”

                Eggsy darted a second glance at the folder.  “What is it?”

                “What you’re going to need to incriminate Richmond Valentine.”

                “Valentine?  Not King?”

                Her lips quirked.  “That won’t be necessary.”

                “What are you going to do?”

                “Something I’m very good at.”

                _Christ_.  “You’re going to kill him.”  The thought bothered him a lot less than it should.

                She snorted.  “When did I say that?  I’m going to disappear.  I’ve cleaned up my mess and now I’m leaving.”

                _This is what you call cleaning up a mess?_

                “But you have killed someone, haven’t you?”  Behind him, Tristan muttered “ _what the fuck_?” and part of Eggsy wondered the same thing.  What the fuck was his stupid mouth doing?  Gazelle was watching him, her head tilted like a hawk observing its prey.  Could she disarm him?  Probably in a second.

                “Is this because of what you heard King say?”

                He nodded, not trusting his mouth to keep him out of trouble this time.

                “I did,” she replied.  Not a blink, not a pause.  “He took my legs.  I took his life.”

                In the short time he’d known her, Eggsy had never once heard her speak about her legs.  She never needed to.  Gazelle commanded every room she entered, not in spite of her legs or because of them.  She did it because she made it very fucking clear that she was in charge; when she spoke, you listened.

                He listened from the beginning.  Gazelle was as hard as a diamond and she could cut like one, too, but she had never cut him.  When he came in trailing after Harry, still trying to fathom how he was even _standing_ in a building like Kingsman HQ, nevertheless about to be working in it, Gazelle hadn’t hesitated.  She’d given him her card, a tablet, and precise instructions on where to go and what to do.

                She’d seen through his baggy jacket and lazy accent and known exactly what he was capable of.  And held him to it. 

                Harry had changed his life, sure.  But Eggsy knew he wouldn’t be half as good at his job if it wasn’t for Gazelle.

                “Why?” he asked, not expecting an answer, but desperate to know all the same. 

                He waited for her to brush him off; when she shrugged, he knew she’d given him all he was going to get. 

                “Because I got scared.”

                _What?_

                “I started thinking that the life I’d created was one I wasn’t willing to lose.  When you start thinking like that, you give people the ammunition they need to hurt you.”

                _‘Have you forgotten that I know who you are?’_   King’s words came to him, bitter and desperate. 

                “You could have told someone.  Harry—“

                “Hart is an idiot,” she interrupted.  “He suspected me and did nothing about it, other than miss meetings and ignore phone calls.  In fact, he was so busy trying to inconvenience me that he completely missed King’s machinations.  Had he gotten shot he would have deserved it for being so stupid.”

                Anger flared in his chest once again.  “And Percy?  Did he deserve it, too?”

                Gazelle’s lips compressed into a thin red line.  “No.  And I sincerely hope he wakes.”  A short, irritated noise escaped her.  “Spend less time worrying about me and more time worrying about Valentine.  He’s determined to get what he wants out of this venture, failed or not, and he’s not concerned about what he has to destroy to do it.”

                “What do you mean?” asked Tristan, taking a step forward.  “What the hell does Valentine plan to destroy?”

                “His last form of real competition.”

                “The only way he brings down Kingsman is if he breaks the network.  Even if he blew up the building, he still—“  Tristan’s voice trailed off into a hush before he bolted across the room.  Fumbling with his shoulder bag, he drew out a slim laptop and yanked it open.

                “Smart boy,” Gazelle murmured, turning towards the door.  “Good luck.”            

                “Don’t,” Eggsy warned, shifting his grip on the pistol.  The rapid-fire sound of fingers clattering across keys filled the room, constant and foreboding.

                She paused, but didn’t turn.  “Don’t stop me, Eggsy.  I would rather not hurt you.”

                “Would you?” he asked.  “Really?”

                Slipping her purse over her shoulder, Gazelle ran her finger along the edge of her collar, tugging it straight.  “Yes.”

                He believed her.  Even this close there was no guarantee that he’d hit her if he pulled the trigger.  And what if he did shoot her?  There was still no evidence against her.  He’d only be screwing himself.  But how could he explain to the others that he’d had her standing in front of him and what?  Just let her walk out the door?

                Tristan cried out and Eggsy turned towards him.  It was only a second, but Gazelle was gone, her long black hair fluttering behind her before the door snapped shut.  He’d let her go.  It was a strange kind of relief.

                “You cowardly son of a bitch!” Tristan shouted, punctuating each word with loud, definitive keystrokes.

                Eggsy dropped the gun on the counter, his palms trembling and sweaty.  “What’s wrong?”

                “It’s the network for the Kingsman Group,” Tristan said, eyes narrowed at the screen.  “It’s already down.”

                “What does that mean?  Is—he’s just taken control?”   

                “ _Like Hell_!”  Snapping his laptop shut, Tristan jammed it into his shoulder bag and headed for the door, pausing only to grab the gun and the folder Gazelle had left behind.  “That’s _my_ system. I’ve spent years upgrading the software.  No asshole is killing my baby.”

                Eggsy scrambled out the door after him, mind spinning.  What the fuck did Tristan _not_ know how to do?  And more importantly…  “Where are we going?”

                “That’s the part you aren’t going to like,” Tristan replied as the elevator doors closed.  “I need to get back into HQ.”

 

+

 

                Roxy didn’t quite believe in God, not in any way that counted.  Any notion of good people being rewarded and bad people being punished made her grind her teeth.  _Sometimes_ bad people got punished and even less often good people were rewarded.

                Life was sometimes good and sometimes bad but it would always be both.  She thought she’d learned not to trust happiness, to just accept it as something fleeting.  There was no finality in it.

                Maybe that was a lie she told herself to remain standing when the ground dropped out from under her.

                She didn’t know how she was still standing.  Every time she began to despair, something would happen to give her hope, only to be overwhelmed by more bad news.  The push and pull was wearing on her.  She felt brittle, cracked around the edges like old porcelain.  What she wanted was for someone to handle her with care and she didn’t want to ask for it.  She didn’t know how.

                Every time she looked at Amelia she felt strong again.  She’d been looking at Amelia when Eggsy had burst through the hospital doors with Tristan and Kaha close behind.  All the happiness from Amelia’s arrival had bled out into fear: _what now_?

                Now she was back in Percy’s room, keeping watch while James directed his team.  He’d been impossibly stalwart through everything but she knew he had to be hurting.  Percy was her godfather, the closest thing she had to true family, but he was James’s lover.  He was everything to James and that scared her.

                If the police didn’t find King soon…

                “You’re being awfully quiet.”

                Roxy managed a small smile for Amelia.  “I’m sorry.  Thinking.”

                “Don’t apologize.  I just don’t want you to spend too much time in here.”  Amelia tapped two fingers against Roxy’s brow.

                “I just wish there was something I could do.  I don’t like sitting here while Uncle James does all the work.”

                She frowned.  “He does seem to be struggling.”

                That was kind.  James looked like a man on the brink of collapse, mental and physical.  He’d been polite but quiet when Amelia had been introduced to him and since then he’d been pacing and shouting so much into his cell phone that the nurse had thrown him out.

               “Please don’t judge him.”

                Amelia’s voice was soft.  “Roxy.  He’s hurting.  You’re both hurting.  Why on Earth would I hold that against him?”

                She wouldn’t.  Of course she wouldn’t.  Amelia was kind and smart and every good thing Roxy was terrified to lose now.

                “It’s just…this isn’t how this was supposed to happen.  You meeting my family.  There was supposed to be dinner, and games—Uncle Percy can cook, you’d be really impressed.  And Uncle James is terrible at charades but he enjoys doing it so much, he’ll act out everything and never let anyone else have a turn, and—“  She felt like an overflowing basin.  There were so many words she wanted to get out but her throat had constricted and her eyes burned.

                Amelia had such cold hands, all the time, but Roxy was grateful for the feel of them clasped around her own. 

“Hey.  I’m not here for the perfect moments, Rox.  I’m here for all of them, even the ones that hurt.”

                Roxy stared back because how could she not?  Those were the right words at the right moment and she knew all about right moments and how they ended.

                Her phone rang.  She thumbed the screen and Eggsy’s voice burst out at her.  She tried to grasp at his breathless sentences made all the more difficult by his accent, which thickened when he was excited or stressed.

                “What do you mean you’re going back to HQ?  You _can’t_.  Slow down!”

                The more he spoke the more she felt like she was spinning.  There was the hole opening at her feet again, a great gaping maw ready to swallow her up.  All of them this time.

                _“It’s our only chance, Roxy.  We have to do something and this is it.”_

                How could she argue with that?  Once again she felt useless; once again she felt like running.

                James was standing in the doorway, his eyes hollow.  “What now?”

                Amelia mimed drinking a cup of tea and slipped out from the room.

                For a moment she thought of not telling him.  There was nothing he could do.  The only people who could do anything were already in route.  She should let him rest.  “Anything?” she asked, stalling.

                “The police can’t track down King or Gazelle.  They’re not trying very hard.”  A sharp laugh escaped him, like an axe swinging down.  “They don’t have any evidence and they don’t want to stick their necks out without it.” 

                “But Harry—“

                “Don’t talk about Hart.  Not now.”

                The air was thick with their fear and frustration.  Wherever James was in his mind right now he’d put up a wall.  Roxy knew she was on the wrong side of it.

                “The network is down.  All of it.”

                “The failsafe?”

                “I…don’t know.”  She had no idea what the failsafe even consisted of.  If it was all truly down then that meant all the financial data, all those accounts across the world were waiting for Valentine to crack them open and drink them dry.  The Kingsman Group would be ruined.

                Everything Percy and James and Harry had lost sleep over; everything Eggsy had struggled with to prove his worth for; everything Roxy had trained and endangered herself for—gone.  Kingsman was at the center of all their lives.  To lose it was unfathomable.

                James gripped the edge of Percy’s hospital bed, staring at him.  Roxy wanted Percy awake so desperately.  Percy had answers—he always had answers.  Without him she felt useless and floundering.  Judging by the torment in James’s expression, he felt the same.

                Then he pushed away, stalking towards the door.

                “Where are you going?”

                “I need to make some calls.”  The flatness of his voice terrified her.

                “Uncle James!”

                He looked back and for a moment the fear eased; he was smiling.  Not a strong smile, but enough that she could recognize him in it.  “Trust me.” 

_I want to trust you.  But I don’t know what you’re asking me to trust you over._   Still, this was James.  Loud, dependable, upstanding Uncle James.  Roxy nodded.

              Three steps and he was gone, leaving Roxy wondering if she should have stopped him.  It was just some calls that would likely involve yelling.  James was being responsible.  It was wrong of her to imagine otherwise.

              At the sound of footsteps she straightened, heart pounding.  It was Amelia, balancing three Styrofoam cups in an awkward pyramid.  “Did something happen?  Your uncle practically ran out of the hospital.”

                _Don’t panic.  It’s okay.  It’s still okay._

                But it wasn’t.  She knew James.  It was easy to: he wore his thoughts and emotions plastered all over his face.  Beyond that she knew that he mirrored her in so many ways.  She wanted King dead.  If that’s how she felt, then she knew James had tipped over the precipice.

                “Rox?”  Amelia had set down the cups and placed her hands on Roxy’s forearms, grounding her.  Even with the heat from the cups, Amelia’s hands were still cold.

                “I need to go after him.  He’s hurting and I’m scared—I think something bad is going to happen.  I think he might try to find King himself.”

                She nodded.  “So _go._ ”

                “And leave you and Uncle Percy unprotected?  No, no way.” 

                Amelia smiled, a slight dip forming in her right cheek.  “Rox, I can handle myself, and not just with a chef’s knife, okay?  Two black belts.  Yeah?  So you go.  I will look after Percy.”

                “Two…?”

                “Yeah, I’m an overachiever, go me.  Don’t believe me?  It’s the bangs, isn’t it?  They make me look soft.” 

                How many more times was she going to throw herself at Amelia like they were long-lost lovers in a romance film?  _At least once more_ , she thought, springing forward.

                “There’s too much I don’t know about you and I don’t like it,” she said breathlessly.

                Amelia kissed her once, twice, all the while moving her towards the door.  “I like to keep you guessing.  When this is over you can ask me all the _questions_ you’d like.  Now you wanted to do something.  Go do it.”

                And just like that she was solid, all her cracks sealed up.  The people in the hospital were blurs; she moved through them easily, her mind running through her options.  Tracking James would be pointless.  He was sure to be moving in one direction.  What she needed to do was track King.

                Amelia’s warm kisses and cold hands were already fading.  She had to find James, had to keep him from breaking things past the point they could be fixed.  _It’s already bad.  Don’t make it worse._

                Even if they were all facing financial ruin, she could more than live with that.  What she couldn’t live without was her family. 

                _They’ve taken enough from us.  I won’t let them take you._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you thought I'd given up, didn't you? A promise is a promise.
> 
> Two more chapters to go, the story will be completed by the end of April.
> 
> And as always, thank you. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! Here we go! This is going to be a new challenge for me. There will be angst and likely smut in later chapters, tempered of course by my endless desire to write ridiculous fluffy humor any chance I get. It's all just for fun so if it seems ridiculous...yeah, that's because it kind of is. I just can't help myself.
> 
> I'm painfully new to F1, so I apologize for any inaccuracies. I'm blending actual factual data with my headcanons about Merlin's racing days, so there ARE liberties being taken, sorry.
> 
> I have plans for pretty much all of the characters and will do my best to explain them as the story goes on.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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